


Sanguinem Vitae

by TazzyJan



Series: Daemones Surge [2]
Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas, The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Dark, Dom/sub, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Non-Consensual Spanking, OT4, Polyamory, Psychological Torture, Rape, Spanking, Supernatural Elements, Suspense, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Torture, Urination, Violence, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-05-16 18:10:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 38
Words: 223,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5835691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TazzyJan/pseuds/TazzyJan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A new evil has come to the Paris countryside, looking for a new killing ground, and the boys are sent to investigate once more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sanguinem Vitae

_Her vice of lust became so customary_  
_that she made license licit in her laws_  
_to free her from the scandal she had caused._  
― Dante Alighieri, Inferno

Part 1

August 1614

It was a daring escape and one she knew would fail if she let her attention falter for even a moment. The fact that no one was supposed to look at her, that she was to have no contact with anyone, would serve her purpose well. If luck, and the devil, was with her then it would be days before her ruse was discovered. By then, she would be out of Hungary altogether. 

She considered staying in Austria, but knew it was too close. She had to get well away, to some place where the name Bathory was not known. She considered Spain, but the Spaniards penchant for Inquisitions gave her pause. Perhaps France would prove a more hospitable place to start anew. After all, from what she had heard, the king was rather weak-willed, really no more than a spoiled man-child. That could work to her advantage quite well. Weak-willed men were so often easily manipulated, especially where a beautiful woman was concerned. 

The only thing that might prove a threat was the touted King’s Musketeers. She would have to do something to ensure that they did not become a threat, but that was a worry for later. She simply had to get there first. Get there and find a suitable place to rebuild her life. Once that was done, she could look into the Musketeers. It should not prove terribly difficult. Someone had to be in charge, after all. She merely needed to find out whom and… ingratiate herself to him. All things considered, she did not think _that_ would be much of a problem.

Her course set, she rode on into the night. The knowledge that she had a plan, a purpose once more, renewed her energy and she urged her horse on faster. She would have her life back. She would get back everything that was taken from her. Then, she would find those who could help her once more, like the ones who had helped her before. Together, they would make sure she stayed young and beautiful forever. Together, they would make her as powerful as the devil himself. And then nothing would be able to stop her.

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

August 1631 (Present)

“Glad to be back?” Porthos asked as they handed off their horses to the stable boy and headed toward the Captain’s office. They had not sent word ahead so had opted not to arrive in uniform, not wanting to appear presumptuous. It would, after all, be up to the Captain as to whether or not they were allowed to return to their duties. 

“Yes,” Athos replied. They had spent long nights discussing their return. In the end, they had decided in favor of returning. For while D’Artagnan and Aramis could have easily contented themselves at their estate, Athos and Porthos would have quickly grown restless. Perhaps, in a few years, they might feel differently but for now, the Musketeers were their life and they were ready to return to it.

As they made their way across the compound, they felt the curious eyes of their fellow Musketeers on them. The men all knew that they had been grievously injured on their last mission. They were no doubt wondering if the four were indeed returning to their ranks or had come to formally resign. 

Treville’s sharp bark of “enter” made them smile outside his door then Athos opened it and they quickly filed inside. They did not miss the way their Captain hesitated at the sight of them and Athos realized that he, too, did not know if they had come to return or resign. 

“Well, I must say, it is good to see you men again,” Treville said as he rose from his desk and walked around it. He held out his hand to each of them in turn, greeting them with genuine affection before stepping back once more.

“It is good to see you, too, sir,” Athos said, surprised by their Captain’s uncharacteristic display of emotion toward them. They all knew he cared about his men in general and the four of them in particular but it was still a rarity for him to display it so openly.

“Don’t keep me in suspense, man,” Treville grumbled when Athos offered no further comment. “Are you staying or are you leaving?”

“We are staying,” Athos told him with a grin. “If you will have us, that is.”

“Gladly,” Treville told him. “Place hasn’t been the same without you lot around to cause trouble.”

“Ah, well, we shall have to get right on that,” Aramis teased. He, too, was surprised by the Captain’s greeting. 

“Just try not to cause an incident before you’re officially returned to duty at least,” Treville warned. “Which I believe will be at week’s end, if that will suit you gentlemen.”

“Thank you, sir,” Athos said. “We could use a few days to get acclimated.”

“Not to mention find lodgings for the four of you, I take it?”

“Ah… yes,” Aramis said hesitantly. “Though I am not altogether sure how we shall manage such. There are not many places to rent that will hold the four of us and of those that will, I do not know if they would be willing to rent to four men.”

“Hmm, you may have a point,” Treville frowned. “See what you can find. If you have difficulty, let me know and I will see what I can do.”

“Captain, you have done far too much already,” Athos said. 

“I take care of my men, Athos. You should know that by now.”

“We could talk to Constance,” D’Artagnan suggested. “I mean, with Bonacieux out of the picture she’s got the house to herself now.”

“You do not think she would… mind?” Aramis asked. “I mean… we are the reason…”

D’Artagnan smiled softly at him. “I am supposed to bring you round for dinner, remember? She will not mind, Aramis. She does not blame any of you for where my heart lies.”

They talked with the Captain a while longer, catching up on all the news around the Garrison that they had missed. They left him with the promise to come by the next day to let him know how their quest for lodgings had fared and headed for Constance’s house next. If D’Artagnan was correct and she was amenable, it would prove the perfect solution to their problem. 

Aramis, however, had his doubts. While he did not doubt that Constance would willingly take them in, he wondered at the fairness of asking her to do so. How would he feel, after all, if the man he loved suddenly asked to take up rooms in his home with the lovers he had cast him aside for?

“What is it?” Athos asked as they walked through the dusty streets. He could see that something was on Aramis’ mind but was unsure as to what it might be.

“I am… concerned,” Aramis said softly.

“About?”

“Constance,” Aramis admitted. At Athos’ frown he went on to explain. “I wonder at the fairness of asking her to take us in so soon after D’Artagnan’s break with her. It seems… unkind.”

“I did not even think,” Athos admitted. “This… this is not a good idea.”

“And yet, to take the choice from her entirely smacks of disrespect,” Aramis countered. “She is a woman of singular strength and resolve. We would do her a disservice not to allow her to make up her own mind in this.”

“There is no good solution to this, is there?” Athos sighed.

“Not without involving the Captain, I am afraid. And I do understand why you are loathe to do that. The more he is seen to help us the less plausible deniability he maintains.”

“What are you two whispering about?” Porthos asked. He had D’Artagnan had been following a few paces behind the pair. They had seen them leaning in close and whispering and had let it go but the frowns they saw on their brothers’ faces were starting to worry them.

“Nothing to overly concern yourself with,” Aramis said breezily. Luckily for Aramis they arrived at Constance’s house before Porthos had a chance to reply. He quickly knocked on the door, forestalling any further questions on the matter.

When Constance opened the door she thought for a moment she seeing things. Then she squealed in glee and threw her arms around Aramis’ neck, hugging him tightly. “Oh, it’s so good to see you again,” she beamed as she released him and turned to Athos next. “When did you get back?”

“Just a few hours ago,” Porthos replied as he leaned down to hug her as well, smiling at her enthusiastic greeting.

Then she was in front of D’Artagnan and her eyes filled with tears. “I’m so glad you’re back,” she choked as he pulled her into a fierce hug. “I’ve missed you all so much.”


	2. Chapter 2

Part 2

“So you’re back now? For good?” Constance asked as they sat around the table finishing the last of their dinner. She had insisted they stay and had busied herself cooking as she filled them in on what all they had missed while they were gone.

“Yes,” D’Artagnan told her. “The Captain has given us the rest of the week to work out lodgings and such before returning to duty.”

“Well, you’re more than welcome here,” she said at once. 

“We… we would need a place for all of us,” D’Artagnan said softly. He had realized once they were there just what had been bothering Aramis and now found himself reluctant to even broach the subject.

Constance reached out and took D’Artagnan’s hands and smiled at him. “I am well aware of that,” she said kindly. “And if I had not been before, I would most certainly be now from the way you look at one another alone. You are my friends. You are welcome in my home. That you found happiness in each other… I am *glad*.”

“You are a lady of singular character,” Aramis said sincerely. “And quite dear to all of our hearts. Our reluctance stems only from the fact that we do not wish to hurt you. It is asking a very great deal and we would understand if it is, perhaps, too much.”

“Do not mistake me,” Constance said, meeting Aramis’ honesty with an equal measure. “It… hurts… to know that what I had hoped for will never be. But he is happy. You are all happy. A blind man could see that and I would not take that from you for anything. 

“So… it hurts… for now. And sometimes it will hurt more than others. But I have friends to help me then, do I not?” If her eyes were over-bright, no one called attention to the fact and for that she was grateful. 

“You do indeed,” he replied huskily, his own emotions threatening to spill over. He reached out and took one of her hands from D’Artagnan’s and brought it to his mouth. He laid a gentle kiss across her knuckles then simply held it.

“If it ever becomes too much, you will tell us, yeah?” Porthos put in, wanting her to know that she could change her mind and they would not hold it against her.

“I promise,” she said, but she knew it would not come to that. Too many long nights spent talking with Captain Treville about these very men had made it painfully clear that they needed those around them that they could trust. She was determined be counted among that number. 

“We shall endeavor to keep our… activities… to a minimum,” Athos assured her, hoping to ease her mind.

Constance turned to stare at him, appalled at the very idea. “You most certainly will *not*,” she told him indignantly. “If this is to be your home, then your *home* it shall be. You will not constrain yourselves here, especially not for me. Whatever do you take me for, some blushing maiden? I assure you, monsieur, I am anything but!”

“My apologies, Madame,” Athos said quickly. “I did not mean…”

“You did not mean to offend, yes I know,” Constance said, still a bit cross. “But I will not have you hiding what is between you as if it is something shameful. I know you must when you are out there, but not here, not where it is safe.”

“We do not wish to hurt you, Constance,” Aramis put in, knowing that decorum was only part of the reason Athos had said what he had.

“I know,” Constance relented. “But you will hurt me more by denying each other. You will let me have this, vicarious though it may be.”

“As you wish then,” Aramis agreed somewhat reluctantly. He would not fight her on this, though he would be keeping a close watch to ensure that she was able to handle the situation as well as she thought she could.

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

It was an easy matter to get moved in. Once it was clear that they would be staying at his estate for some time, the Captain had gone to their lodgings and collected their things, storing them at the garrison for them. When they had informed him of Constance’s insistence upon their staying with her he had not seemed surprised. 

“I think it is probably the best solution we could hope for,” he told them. “You need not worry about being found out by someone… less than understanding. And I shall no longer have to worry about Madame Bonacieux being alone.”

“Sir?” D’Artagnan queried, surprised.

“She is a strong and capable woman but Paris can be a dangerous place,” Treville replied, “and I am not free to check on her as often as I would like to.”

“You’ve been checking on her?” Aramis asked, unable to keep the hint of a smirk from his voice.

“Aramis, do you enjoy cleaning the stables?” Treville asked evenly.

“Shutting up now, Sir,” Aramis replied smartly, elbowing Porthos when he snickered at him from behind his hand.

Treville merely shook his head and sighed, asking himself *why* exactly he had wanted these men back so badly. He had to admit, however, that seeing them laughing and happy eased something within his heart. So if it had to be at his own expense, well, he could supposed he could let it pass just this once. 

“You should come round for dinner,” Athos told him as they loaded up the rest of their meager possessions for the trip to Constance’s. Musketeers did not often have much in the way of material possessions and they were no exception. Their clothes, armor and weapons along with whatever few personal items they either brought with them from their former lives or acquired over time made up the lot of it. Still, with four of them, it was more than they could take on their horses so the Captain had loaned them one of the garrison carts. 

“I am sure the lady has enough Musketeers in her home without adding another,” Treville said dismissively.

“Sir,” Aramis said, putting a hand on his arm. “Come for dinner, to dine with us if for no other reason.”

Treville hesitated looking sharply at Aramis then glancing around at the others. “If you are sure the lady will not mind,” he said. “I would not like to be an imposition.”

“Oi,” Porthos snorted. “Not another one.”

Treville cocked an eyebrow at him and stared, silently demanding an explanation. 

“Forgive Porthos,” Athos attempted to clarify. “We have struggled with the concept of… imposing… between us. I believe he has merely grown weary of the idea as a whole.”

“Why do I get the feeling there is a great deal more to that statement than what you are telling me?” Treville asked.

“Because there is,” Aramis stated, “but you are better off not knowing the particulars. In fact, the less particulars you know of our… relationship status… the safer you are. Just know that it is resolved and all is well.”

“You know you do not have to hide yourselves around me,” Treville told him. “And I don’t give a damn about the *danger* it puts me in.”

“Begging your pardon, Sir, but we do,” Aramis replied.

Treville did end up joining them for dinner that night, much to everyone’s, including Constance’s, delight. While they had been out getting their things together, she had been busy moving her belongings out of the main bedroom and into the smaller room that had been D’Artagnan’s. The others had vehemently protested when they arrived and found out but she had insisted that it only made sense since there were four of them and only one of her. In the end, Aramis had sided with her, telling his brothers to let it be and they had subsided, albeit grudgingly and with no small amount of glaring in Aramis’ direction.

“I did not mean to make them angry at you,” she whispered to him once the others had left them.

“They are not,” he assured her. “They simply do not understand why I said I agreed with your decision when they know I do not.”

“But…”

“But it is your decision to make,” Aramis cut her off. “And we shall abide by it. It does make the most sense, I agree with you there, but the gentleman in me takes exception to it regardless.”

Treville had watched the interaction between the four Musketeers and Constance in silence, wanting to see how she would handle these rather headstrong men. It was clear that she was just as stubborn as they were and not the least bit intimidated by them. It was also clear to see that young D’Artagnan was not the only one that would protect her with his dying breath if need be. He did have to wonder how much of Aramis’ solicitousness was due to his natural disposition toward women and how much was due to lingering guilt where the situation with D’Artagnan was concerned.

By the time dinner was ready the men had managed to get their belongings stowed and their moods returned to normal. Treville had stayed out of the way, choosing to spend the time sitting in the kitchen with Constance and updating her on what had been going on at the garrison. 

Dinner was a happy affair, filled with talk and laughter, though Treville did catch Porthos eyeing Aramis warily a few times. What bothered him most, however, was that Aramis seemed unaware of it. It was not like the man to be so out of tune with his surroundings. Or with his brothers.

“Aramis, is something wrong?” Treville asked.

“Ah no, Sir,” Aramis replied, shaking his head ruefully. 

“You seem preoccupied, son,” Treville pointed out. “That’s not like you. This isn’t still about earlier, is it?”

“No, no. Nothing like that,” Aramis said. “It’s nothing, really.”

“Aramis is worried about me,” Constance said softly. 

“You?” Treville repeated, surprised. “Why?”

“He fears their presence here will cause me pain,” she explained. “And while it will, I have come to realize that not all pain is bad.”

“I see,” Treville said. “Aramis…”

“I am sorry if I do not wish to *hurt* her!” Aramis snarled, standing from the table so quickly that his chair clattered to the floor behind him. He strode from the room, his steps quick and angry. Why could they not understand that the thought of his mere presence causing her pain was an anathema to him?

“Do you want to talk about it?” Treville asked. He found him outside leaning against the back of the house. “Or would you prefer the peace and quiet?”

“I truly do not know,” Aramis admitted. “I am sorry for my behavior. It was deplorable. I hope I did not upset her overmuch.”

“She is stronger than that,” Treville assured him. “But she is worried for you. As are your lovers. It was all Athos could do to keep Porthos from coming after you. I thought perhaps you might speak more freely to someone outside of things, but if you would prefer one of them, I will fetch them for you.”

“No,” Aramis said at once. “You are right. They will try to understand and then they will try to comfort me. I do not wish to be comforted.”

“Alright. What do you wish then?”

“I do not know,” Aramis replied sadly. “To stop hurting the people I care about, I suppose. To stop endangering them simply by being a part of their lives.”

“Don’t you think that should be my decision?” Constance asked as she came around the side of the house. She walked over to Aramis and pulled him into her arms and hugged him. “You men. You always think you know what’s best.”

“You mean we don’t?” Aramis teased softly.

“Of course you don’t. But that’s what you have us women for,” she teased back. “I know what I’m letting myself in for and I understand the danger if the wrong people should find out. But you’re my family, Aramis. When I was in trouble, you came for me. You protected me. Now it’s my turn to protect you.”

“If anything were to happen to you I would never forgive myself,” he told her.

“Then we shall all endeavor to make sure nothing of the sort ever does,” Treville said. “But it is her life, son. You must respect her enough to allow her to live it as she would.”

“Yes, Sir,” Aramis said, his face still pressed into Constance’s shoulder. “I do. I have nothing but the utmost respect and admiration…”

“I know. I know. It’s alright,” Constance soothed when she felt him growing distressed again. “Aramis, tell me now, what brought this on? Surely it is more than just worry for my feelings.”

“I… I… I don’t know,” he admitted sheepishly. 

The sound of footsteps approaching alerted them to the arrival of the others. While Athos and Porthos hung back with Treville, D’Artagnan moved to where Constance and Aramis stood. “Little One?” he said softly. “Tell me what is wrong.”

“I do not know,” Aramis repeated, burrowing his head into Constance’s shoulder a bit harder. 

“Do you wish me to go away and leave you be?”

“No,” Aramis gasped, his head jerking up to look at his lover. 

“Then I will not,” D’Artagnan told him calmly. “I think… I think you are merely overwhelmed. It has been a long day and being back here, in Paris has reminded you of all the things you were able to forget when we were away.”

“What things?” Aramis asked, frowning in confusion.

“That we are Musketeers. That a mission could see us dead tomorrow. That what is between us, as beautiful as it is, is a crime and an abomination in the eyes of most everyone else,” D’Artagnan replied. “At the Maison, it was as if we were in our own little world where no one and nothing could touch us. That is no longer so.”

“You think me a coward?” Aramis gasped.

“I think you a man who, for the first time in his life, realizes how very much he has to lose,” D’Artagnan said. “You are no more a coward than any of us. Fear does not determine cowardice. How you react to it does. And that, Little One, makes you the bravest man I have ever known.”


	3. Chapter 3

Part 3

Athos and Porthos remained downstairs with the Captain and Constance as D’Artagnan led a rather subdued Aramis upstairs. They were at a loss as to why Aramis had become so upset and hoped the Whelp could get to the root of it. Perhaps it was just a matter of overwrought nerves. Aramis did tend to be the most closed-mouthed about his needs in that regard. It would be just like him to be growing more and more agitated yet refusing to let any of them know. 

“He will be alright,” Constance assured them as they sat around her kitchen table.

“Yeah,” Porthos said a bit doubtfully.

“If Aramis is not ready to come back yet,” Treville began.

“No, he is,” Athos told him. “I do not know what caused tonight’s outburst. I truly think it is as D’Artagnan said and he was simply overcome by everything he had not allowed himself to think of.”

“Alright,” Treville said. “But if you need more time, just say so. I would have you back, but only when you are ready. If he needs time to adjust to being back in Paris, back among more than just his brothers, then he shall have it. I *will* make it an order if I have to.”

“Yes, Sir,” Athos smiled. “We will make sure he knows this. And if I do indeed think he is not ready then we shall wait to return. I would not have us go back too soon either. I would not put my brothers at risk and neither would Aramis.”

In their bedroom, Aramis began to undress, his back turned to D’Artagnan. He was so ashamed of how he had acted downstairs he could not bring himself to look at the other man. He had embarrassed himself and his Master in front of not only their brothers, but Constance and the Captain as well. 

“Little One, stop that,” D’Artagnan chided softly as he watched Aramis disrobe, his jerky movements displaying none of his usual grace.

Aramis froze in mid-motion then hung his head and dropped his arms to his sides. “I am sorry,” he whispered. “I did not mean to embarrass you or make you leave the company of the others to tend to me as if I were a *child*.”

“Look at me,” D’Artagnan said more firmly this time. He waited until Aramis raised his head and turned toward him. “First, you have nothing to apologize for. Second, your need for me is never an embarrassment. And third, you have forced me to do nothing.”

“I have acted…”

“Like a man who has borne entirely too much for one day,” D’Artagnan interrupted before Aramis could say anything else. “You say you acted like a child. That is not what I would call it. Nor, I dare say, what any of the others would call it either, including the Captain. It is no crime to ask for our help, love.”

“My behavior was a disgrace,” Aramis argued, though the fight had gone out of his words.

“No, it was not. It was a call for help which I heard.” D’Artagnan closed the distance between them and pulled him into his arms. “It was easier at the Maison, wasn’t it? When it was just us, when there was no one else around. No pressure. No worries of who might see or hear something they should not. Where we knew we were safe?”

“I could not stand to lose you,” Aramis whispered so softly D’Artagnan could barely hear him. “Not any of you. It would destroy me utterly.”

“If you cannot do this, love, you need to say,” D’Artagnan told him. “Athos and Porthos will understand, as will the Captain. There are other things we can do. We do not have to be Musketeers.”

Aramis held onto him tightly for a moment then drew back. “Yes, we do,” he said. “For it is what we are. I have never in my life allowed my fears to rule me. I shall not do so now.”

“And this is why I say you are the bravest man I have ever known,” D’Artagnan told him. “Come. Let us lie down. The others will be up to join us soon enough and I would have you to myself for a time.”

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

D’Artagnan was not surprised to find Constance already up and making breakfast when he came downstairs. He might be the earliest riser of their group but he well remembered Constance always being up before him, either preparing food or sewing.

“Good morning,” he said as he sat down at the table.

“Good morning,” she said, smiling brightly then frowning slightly. “How is Aramis?”

“He’s alright,” D’Artagnan told her. “I think everything just got to him a bit, is all. He does not always talk about what is troubling him. He will be fine, though. There is no need to worry.”

“Thank God,” she said, relieved. “He was so upset. I don’t want him to upset himself like that because of me.”

“Aramis will always worry about those he considers family,” D’Artagnan told her.

“Oh,” Constance said, genuinely surprised. She knew, of course, that he cared for her. He had made that abundantly clear, but she had thought it merely friendship.

“I do need to ask you a favor, though.”

“Of course,” she replied at once, still a bit thrown by what D’Artagnan had told her.

He grinned at the way she blushed faintly, earning him a soft slap on the arm. “Would it be alright if we set up a second bedroom?”

“Yes,” she said slowly. “But… why?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes we need time for just the two of us, be it Aramis and I or Athos and Aramis or whomever,” he explained. 

“That… makes sense, I guess,” she said after a moment. “And of course, I don’t mind. Set up the house however you need to. I… I would have this be our house… as in, all of ours… together.”

“Are you certain?” D’Artagnan asked. 

“We are family, are we not?” she countered.

“Yes. Yes, we are.”

She turned back to the dough she was kneading, letting a comfortable silence settle between them for a bit. Finally, she drew up her courage once more. “I would ask you some things, if you do not mind,” she said without looking up.

“Go ahead,” D’Artagnan replied. 

“Little One?” 

D’Artagnan hesitated, unsure how to explain without telling Constance a great deal more than she wanted to know. “That… that is rather difficult to explain,” he stalled, trying to think of some way to put it that would not make it sound like some sort of perversion. Even their brothers, who knew Aramis intimately, did not fully understand this about them.

“D’Artagnan, just tell me,” Constance said, raising her head and pinning him with a look. “Whatever it is, I can take it.”

“Very well,” he sighed. “Aramis is my Little One. It is… an affectionate name that I call him when he is being… submissive to me.”

“Submissive?”

“When I am acting in the role of his Master,” D’Artagnan stated bluntly. 

“Oh,” Constance said, shocked for the second time that morning. “And this is… this is something he… wants?”

“Yes,” D’Artagnan said fondly. Leave it to Constance to question if it was consensual on Aramis’ part or not. “He wants it very much. He… he needs it. In truth, so do I.”

“But… why?” she asked, still not understanding.

“I do not think I can explain it completely, but I shall try,” he said. He held out his hands to her and drew her down to sit beside him. “For Aramis, to serve brings him a measure of peace he cannot find elsewhere. It allows him to let go of everything else around him. He does not have to think. He does not have to worry. He does not have to do anything except what his Master bids him to. He cedes his will completely to that of another.

“And to know that he has brought pleasure to his Master,” D’Artagnan continued. “To know that he has done a good job, that he has served well, in turn pleases him.”

“That… sounds rather lovely, actually,” Constance said with the tiniest of laughs.

“There are… other… parts of it as well. Parts that are… darker. There are times when he feels he should be punished for things he has done. He will look to his Master in those times as well.”

“What sort of things?” Constance asked suddenly worried.

“It varies,” D’Artagnan replied. “The only time it has yet occurred with me has been when he felt he had behaved improperly.”

Constance gasped and suddenly looked stricken. “You don’t mean last night, do you?”

“No,” D’Artagnan said at once. “He has said nothing of that as yet.”

“But you won’t, right?”

“I… I cannot promise that,” D’Artagnan told her. “If he asks me, I will try to dissuade him, but if he needs that in order to release his guilt then I will help him.”

“And you can do this?” she asked looking at him hard.

“It is a duty I have willingly taken on and I will not shirk it. Does it break my heart to raise a hand to him? Yes. But if it stops him from tearing himself apart with guilt then I will gladly endure that pain.”

“Oh, you.” Constance reached out and pulled D’Artagnan into her arms and held him. It was awkward with them sitting down but she did not care. “Is there anything I can do? Any way I can help?”

“What? With Aramis?”

“Yes. Or you. Or any of this.” She had no idea what she was offering and knew that but she did not care. If there was anything she could do to help them then she would.

“You are a wonder, Madame,” D’Artagnan told her sincerely. “I do not know if you can help in this, but I will certainly let you know.”

After breakfast Athos and Porthos headed to the garrison. They wanted to speak with Treville some more and spend some time in the practice yard. Athos knew that Treville would want to evaluate him before allowing him back into the field. The man could not, in all good conscience, release him to active duty without being certain he would not be putting those around him at risk. 

When they arrived they spent the first little while greeting the brothers they had not seen in weeks and catching up on all the garrison gossip. It felt good to be back amongst their brethren and it eased something within both men to realize just how sorely they had been missed. 

Once the commotion had died down, the pair squared off and began to fence. Porthos did not hold back, wanting Treville, as well as the other men, to see that Athos was as good as he ever was if not exactly the same. By the time they stopped, both of them were sweating but it had been made clear that Athos was more than fit for the field. 

Back at home, D’Artagnan took Aramis aside while Constance busied herself with the day’s sewing. She stayed nearby in case they had need of her, but did her best to give them privacy. She knew D’Artagnan would be telling Aramis of their earlier conversation and was not at all sure how Aramis would take her knowing such intimate details of their relationship.

“Is something wrong?” Aramis asked when D’Artagnan led him over to the small sofa in Constance’s sitting room.

“No,” D’Artagnan told him. “But I need to speak with you about some things.”

“And that is not foreboding in the slightest,” Aramis quipped, trying to ease his sudden nerves.

Deciding it would be best to simply get it over with, D’Artagnan began. “Constance and I spoke this morning. She was worried about you. I told her that you just needed some rest. She also asked about my calling you Little One.”

Aramis visibly paled and closed his eyes, afraid of what D’Artagnan was going to say next. He did not mean to put the other man in this position. He knew how much Constance meant to him and now he had either forced him to lie to her or damaged their relationship quite possibly beyond repair.

“Little One, I do not know what you are thinking right now, but whatever it is, you are wrong,” D’Artagnan said as he reached out and took Aramis’ hands in his. “I explained to her about being your Master, about what that meant for both of us. Well, I tried to at any rate.”

“I am so sorry,” Aramis said miserably.

“Why are you sorry?”

“She must be so… so…”

“Worried about you?” D’Artagnan supplied. “Concerned for your well-being and trying to understand what is you need from this… from me?”

“She… she does not think me sick? Disgusting?” Aramis asked, as if he could not believe that she could possibly think anything else.

“You are the brother of her heart, Aramis. She would never think such a thing of you. She… she offered to *help*.” D’Artagnan told him. 

“Help? Help how?” The incredulity in Aramis’ voice was all too easy to hear.

“I have no idea,” D’Artagnan said with a laugh. “I do not believe she does either, but the offer was genuine. If there is a way for her to help in this she will for she loves you dearly and would do anything in her power to ease you.”

“She is mad,” Aramis gasped.

“Quite possibly,” D’Artagnan agreed. “But she is our mad sister, and she does not want you to feel you have to hide even a part of yourself. Not here. Not in our home.”

“Our home?” Aramis queried.

“Our home,” D’Artagnan replied.

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

“Any preference to which room we use for the second bedroom?” D’Artagnan asked when they had finished dinner. “And we’ll need to see about furniture for it as well.”

Athos and Porthos turned to look at Constance, unsure what her reaction would be. They had already taken over her bedroom. They were unsure how much more of her home she would be willing to cede to them.

Constance saw their looks of trepidation and shook her head with a smile. “I don’t really care, but if you take the one next door you can probably cut a door between the two if you like,” she said.

“And you have no objection to us cutting holes in your walls?” Athos asked, rather taken off guard by the whole conversation.

“I do not mind you cutting holes in *our* walls at all. This is your home as well now. You will do what you must to make it suit your needs,” she replied.

When Athos opened his mouth to argue, Aramis cut him off. “And you will, of course, do the same at the Maison as soon as we are able to take you there?”

“But that is…”

“Our home,” Aramis supplied. “As you are making this a home for all of us, so shall that be as well. Whether you ever deign to stay there or not, you shall have a place within it that suits you, Madame.”

“What he said, love,” Porthos added when Constance looked between the rest of them.

“Very well then,” she replied, a bit overcome at the sudden turn of events.

“Excellent,” Aramis said. “We are all in agreement then? Athos?”

“Yes,” Athos said after a moment’s hesitation. “Yes, we are all in agreement.”

The next day, they split up to take care of various things. They needed to report to the garrison the next day and wanted to finish getting settled before then. Athos escorted Constance to the furniture maker she knew to procure a new bed for their second bedroom. They thought it would look less questionable if Constance went with one of them rather than if two men went to make the purchase.

There were some books that Aramis had borrowed from various people that he wanted to return and Porthos had volunteered to go with him since most of them belonged to various and sundry ladies of Aramis’ acquaintance. That left D’Artagnan on his own, which was fine with him. He did, after all, have something he wished to do. And, truth be told, he did not think Aramis would be very happy with him if he were to find out just what he was up to. 

As D’Artagnan prepared to head out on his own, he hesitated, unsure where to actually begin. He did not have any names nor did he even have a time frame to work with. He knew it had to be in the relatively early days of the trio’s friendship for Aramis to have been able to hide his obvious duress from them, at least that first time. He had an idea that the subsequent times were nowhere near as bad and Aramis would have taken measures to ensure that they mostly occurred when he would have some small amount of time away from his brothers’ watchful eyes. 

So what he was looking for was a mistress Aramis had been seeing then abruptly stopped seeing about five years or so ago. There should not be many of those roaming around Paris! He wondered if Treville might have some idea. He kept a weather eye on his men, especially these three. He might have an idea. But if he went to him with questions, the man would want to know why and D’Artagnan would never betray Aramis in such a way. No, he would have to go about this a different way.

He changed his clothes quickly, making sure nothing he wore gave any indication that he was a Musketeer. He even went so far as to leave his sword behind, taking only a single pistol and a hidden dagger with him. He felt practically naked as he walked along the streets toward the first tavern, but it was necessary. 

At the tavern, he scanned the room, looking for anyone who might fit the vague description Aramis had given. They had a house and servants, which meant they had money. He was large and muscular but not portly, that indicated the middle tier of the upper class – either a successful merchant or old family money. D’Artagnan thought it was probably the latter. He saw no one in the first tavern that seemed to fit so he quietly moved on to the next.

In the third, he thought he might have a candidate. He was large, with strong arms and a meanness around his eyes that spoke of a fondness for casual cruelty. D’Artagnan ordered an ale and moved a bit closer, wanting the man to be able to overhear his conversation.

“You know any Musketeers?” D’Artagnan asked, making sure to put a sneer in his voice.

“Few come round here,” the barkeep replied. “Why?”

“I’m looking for one,” D’Artagnan said angrily. “He dishonored my sister and I will have satisfaction in her name.”

“Lot of Musketeers in Paris, boy,” the barkeep told him. “You got a name.”

“No,” D’Artagnan replied glumly and pretended to take a large swig of ale. “But she said he had the face of an angel and the soul of a devil. He seduced her away from her betrothed then threw her aside when he’d had his fill of her.”

“Sorry, lad. Wish I could help you.” The barkeep turned back to his other customers then but not before D’Artagnan saw him glance over his shoulder.

D’Artagnan did not turn to see who the barkeep had looked at. He had a feeling it was the man he had spotted earlier. If it was, it would be best to let the man come to him. He was, after all, supposed to be completely unaware of any possible connection to Aramis. It would not due to tip his hand. Finishing his ale, D’Artagnan slammed the tankard down and strode from the bar. He had laid the groundwork and had a good idea of what the man he suspected looked like. In a few days, he would be come back and see what else he might be able to uncover.


	4. Chapter 4

Part 4

They reported to the garrison early the next morning, eager to be back. Aramis had settled back into his normal self and was as excited at the prospect of returning to the field as his brothers were. They had just taken up their customary table at the bottom of the stairs when the Captain came out onto the landing.

“You four, up here,” he said tersely then turned around and went back into his office, careful to make sure none of his men saw the rather affectionate smile he could not keep off his face.

They grinned at each other then got up and hurried up the stairs, wondering what the Captain had for them. While they knew it was probably just some run of the mill patrol, they were still anxious to get back into the swing of things.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” Treville said once they had filed into his office.

“Good morning, Captain,” Athos replied for them all.

He looked up at them from his desk and studied them. He had planned on sending them out to patrol for the next little while, wanting to ease them back into their duties. But that was before the current mission had landed on his desk. While he knew they were, without a doubt, the best men for the job, he could not in all good conscience simply order them to take it. Not after what they had already been through. He would, however, give them the details and let them decide if they felt up to such a challenge so soon after returning.

“Captain, is something wrong?” Athos asked when the Captain eyed them but failed to say anything.

“No,” Treville said, shaking his head. “Sit down, the lot of you. I have something to discuss with you.”

Glancing nervously between them, they did as their Captain ordered and sat down in front of his desk. He had said there was nothing wrong so they were not overly concerned but this was hardly how the Captain normally handed out their assignments.

“A mission has come across my desk,” Treville began, “and I would assign it to you men but only if you feel you are up to it.”

“Sir?” Athos frowned. He had thought the Captain agreed with their assessment that they were ready to return.

“Peace, Athos,” Treville said, holding up a hand to forestall the coming argument. “I know you are all more than ready to return to duty. However, this particular mission could prove… problematic… so soon after your last one.”

“Perhaps you should give us the details then, Sir,” Aramis said, “so that we might know what it is that troubles you about it.”

“Of course,” Treville agreed. “A number of smaller villages have started reporting the disappearances of young girls. It was not brought to anyone’s attention at first because the villages were rather spread out and no one realized that the disappearances might be connected.”

“I beg your pardon, Captain,” Athos cut in, “but you do not think us fit to look into a string of disappearances?”

“There is a bit more to it than that,” Treville told him. “There have also been reports of strange… rituals, for lack of a better term, being performed in the forests between the villages.”

“What sort of rituals?” Aramis asked.

“That part is rather unclear. From what I can gather, animal carcasses and rather large amounts of blood have been discovered at the scenes but the reports tend to be contradictory. There has also been some mention of certain… symbols carved onto nearby trees or painted on the ground in blood.”

“No,” Porthos said, shaking his head. “We’re not doing this.”

“Yes, we are,” Aramis said softly, causing all three of his brothers to turn toward him. “If the Captain had others he thought could handle such an investigation, he would have already sent them. It is obvious he does not. And, in truth, who better than us to deal with such… such…”

“Aramis,” Athos said softly. 

“You said it yourself, Athos. Back at the ruins. We are Musketeers. We do not leave an evil to fester and grow. We did not then and we will not now.”

“I see that Aramis’ mind is made up in this regard,” Treville said carefully. “What of the rest of you? Do you feel up to facing such a thing again?”

“At the first sign of a desecrated church, we leave,” Porthos said adamantly.

“Agreed,” Athos said before Aramis could say otherwise. “That is not negotiable, Aramis. We will investigate as you wish but some things we will not chance.”

“D’Artagnan?” Treville asked, aware that their youngest member had yet to speak up.

“Like Porthos, I would prefer to let others handle this,” he replied. “But I understand that we are the best suited for it. We have dealt with such darkness before and understand it far more than we care to admit.”

“Very well,” Treville said. He had expected no less of them. They were good, brave men and they had never let him down. They would not do so now. He only hoped he was not asking too much of them too soon. Especially of Aramis. 

“Here is all of the information I have on what has been going on, including a map of the villages where the girls have disappeared from and the ritual sites,” Treville said as he handed a packet of papers to Athos. “You may want to check with any surrounding farms and villages to see if there are others we are unaware of. You are to leave at once…”

“May we have a few hours, Captain?” Aramis asked, licking his lips nervously.

Treville looked at him for a moment the nodded. “Of course,” he agreed. “I would ask why though?”

“There are some few things I would like to prepare before we leave,” Aramis explained. “It should not take me long. Only a couple of hours really, but I would feel more… more at ease if I had them with me.”

“Of course, son,” Treville said at once. “Take whatever time you need. In fact, if you’d rather ride out first thing in the morning, I’ve no problem with that either. I understand that a man… a priest… might need to prepare for such things.”

“I am no priest, Captain,” Aramis said.

“Close as makes no difference,” Treville told him. “And you know it. If not, you would never have been able to help save Porthos as you did. Your faith is strong, Aramis. It has served you and your brothers in good stead. Let it continue to be your guide and you will always find your way home again.”

In the end, Treville convinced them to delay their start until first thing in the morning, wanting them to have some time to get used to the idea. He understood Porthos’ misgivings about it and did not blame the man. He knew, though, that where his brothers went, he went regardless of the danger to himself. 

Athos and Porthos had offered to help Aramis with his preparations but he had waved them off, saying he needed some degree of solitude to prepare himself and the rest was just a matter of gathering a few supplies. D’Artagnan had excused himself, saying he had something he wanted to attend to before they left and had disappeared before either of them could question him further. Left on their own, the pair had ensconced themselves in Constance’s sitting room.

“Are you sure you are ready for this, brother?” Athos asked him. They had been sitting in companionable silence for a while but the question had been gnawing at him since the garrison. He had understood Porthos’ desire to reject the mission immediately. The thought of another such encounter as the one they had endured before made his blood run cold. 

“Not in the slightest,” Porthos answered truthfully. “But I will not challenge Aramis in this.”

“He will understand if you are not ready,” Athos told him.

“I will never be ready, brother. Some things must be faced whether we are ready or not. I will face this with my brothers at my side. *Aramis* will face this as he feels he must. But what of you? You suffered more than any of us at that demon’s hands. Are *you* ready to face such evil again?”

“Not in the slightest,” Athos said, parroting Porthos’ words from moments ago. “But, like Aramis, I will not allow my fears to rule me. I did that once. I will never do so again. If the two of you are brave enough to face this then I shall draw my courage from you, as I so often do.”

Porthos nodded, understanding the sentiment, for he often drew on Athos to maintain his calm when he was in danger of losing it. “But at the first sign of something… other…”

“I will tie Aramis across his saddle myself if I have to,” Athos told him. “D’Artagnan will help, I am sure.”

“Speaking of the Whelp, where did he get off to?” Porthos asked, bringing up something else that was bothering him. This was the second day in a row that D’Artagnan had headed out on his own. While they were not attached at the hip, it was still unusual for them to go off alone when their brothers were available to accompany them. 

“He did not say,” Athos replied. “I take it he did not say where he was going yesterday either?”

“No. Just said he had something to take care of and would see us back here for dinner.”

“You worry too much, brother. It is probably nothing. Or perhaps he is planning some surprise for Aramis and does not wish anyone else to know of it. It truly could be anything.”

“Guess you’re right. I just don’t like the lad being out of our sight like this,” Porthos admitted. “Not after everything. It was one thing for him to go off for a bit at the Maison, but Paris can be a dangerous place. What if he ran into some kind of trouble and we weren’t there?”

“D’Artagnan is a Musketeer and capable of taking care of himself,” Athos reminded him, though the idea of their youngest wandering the streets alone did not sit overly well with him either, especially now. “But if he does not return shortly, I believe we shall go and see about finding him.”

The smile of relief on Porthos’ face was worth whatever annoyance would be on D’Artagnan’s when they tracked him down. As he looked at Porthos, he realized that while he knew D’Artagnan had spoken with him and Aramis, he was unsure if he and Porthos had been able to.

“You have not had a chance to speak with him about what happened, have you?” Athos asked.

“Not really,” Porthos shrugged. “I tried, back at the Maison, but he kept brushing it off.”

“He was not brushing *you* off, brother,” Athos told him seriously.

“I know that,” Porthos told him. 

“Then what is it?” Athos asked gently, hoping Porthos would tell him what the root of the problem was. Maybe then he could be of some help.

“Just feels like I lost so much ground with the lad,” Porthos admitted. “We were… we were getting somewhere, Athos. Or starting to anyway. Now...”

“Now?” Athos prodded.

“Feels like I’m right back to where I started. Or worse. Guess I got my hopes up and shouldn’t have.”

“Your hopes up? For the four of us, you mean?”

“Yeah,” Porthos said softly. 

“Do not despair so, brother,” Athos told him. “You have not lost as much ground as you think. He is… wary, as is his way, but he is still with us. He has been hurt before and badly. To pull back, to hide himself when his heart is hurt or threatened, is instinct with him. It can be overcome, but it will take time and effort on all of our parts.”

“When I think about what could’ve been done to the lad to make him so bloody fearful of trusting *anyone*…”

“I know, brother. It makes my blood boil as well,” Athos agreed. “One day, we shall prise that information from our dear Whelp and then there *will* be a reckoning.”

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

Aramis carried the saddlebags into the church and up to the altar where the priest stood. He carefully pulled out each item and laid it down before the man. First was the prayer book that Father Andre had used to help exorcise the spirit from Porthos. He had given it to him before they had left, saying only that he would pray Aramis never had to make use of it again. Next came a silver Aspergillum that Treville himself had acquired for him. He followed that with two additional rosaries, several vials of Holy Water and a few portions of Consecrated Host. Once empty, he laid the saddlebags alongside the rest and looked at the priest.

“I would like to have these blessed,” he said. 

“I see,” said the old priest as he looked at the Musketeer before him. Captain Treville had spoken with him some days ago when he had procured the Aspergillum from him, telling him that if one of his men ever came to him making somewhat unorthodox requests, that he would consider it a personal favor if the priest would do as the man asked. He need not have bothered. Taking one look at the eyes of this man, the old priest knew that he had fought true evil and it looked like he was preparing to do so again.

“Will you like to make Confession first, my son?” he asked kindly.

“Yes, Father,” Aramis said gratefully.

“Then kneel and we shall do so here,” the priest said. “We are alone and not likely to be overheard. Let me hear your confession so that I may absolve you from your sins and make you ready to fight once more.”

“Did… did the Captain…”

“Yes,” the priest replied, “but he would not have needed to. I can see in your eyes that you have endured many battles, and not all of them in the realm of the physical. We shall make sure you are ready for such once again and I will pray very hard that you are not tested so.”

“Thank you, Father,” Aramis said, bowing his head. He slid to his knees there at the altar and began to give his confession. He hesitated when he went to speak of his sins of the flesh as he did not truly consider them sins. In the end, he said only that he was guilty of lust, greed, jealousy and fornication.

“Are you true to your partner?” the priest asked, seeing how he struggled with what to say.

“Partners,” Aramis admitted, “but yes, I am true to them.”

“And they are all aware of each other and your infidelity?”

“They are aware and do not consider it infidelity,” Aramis said.

“Alright then,” the priest said. He gave Aramis his penance but refrained from telling him to sin no more, knowing it would be pointless. He absolved him of his sins and allowed him to take Communion then bid him rise. Once he was standing, he began blessing the items he had laid out on the table, including the saddlebags themselves. “May they protect you and those you love.”

“Thank you again, Father.” Aramis gathered the items and returned them carefully to the bags. He turned to leave but the priest stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“When it is done, come and let me know?” he asked. He watched Aramis’ eyes widen then smiled when the young man grinned and nodded at him. “I shall pray for you, my son. Go with God and know all of His lambs are precious to Him.”

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

D’Artagnan returned to the tavern but did not enter. He stayed just down the street from it, watching the doorway. He knew it was a long-shot, hoping that the man he had seen would emerge so that he could follow him and get some idea of who he was, but it was all he had at the moment. He knew better than to risk changing clothes before heading out to continue his hunt. Not with both Athos and Porthos home. They would wonder just where he was going that required him to hide the fact that he was a Musketeer and D’Artagnan was not yet ready to let them in on this. He would need a great deal more evidence first. Only when he was sure he had the right man would he even consider letting his brothers help him and then only if Aramis had confided in them. 

Even if Aramis had told them of what he had endured, D’Artagnan was not at all sure he would bring Athos or Porthos with him for this. He knew in his heart that he planned to kill them. He had no doubt that they had continued to torment Aramis with what they had done to him, if only by occasionally running into the man in the market or square. Aramis did not deserve to have to endure such torment. He did not deserve for his tormentors to walk about freely while he bore the scars of what they had done to him. 

No, D’Artagnan knew he would not allow them to live. Not either of them. The only real question was whether or not he would make it quick. Part of him said he should, said he should simply slit their throats and be done with it. That part, however, was not nearly as loud as the part of him that practically bayed for their blood. That part of him remembered all too clearly the look in Aramis’ eyes when he spoke of his shame, when he spoke of *dishonor*. That part of him would gladly spend hours making both of them scream before he finally ended their miserable lives.

D’Artagnan was getting ready to give up for the day and head back home when a familiar figure strode out of the tavern and down the street. He was walking away from him, but he easily recognized the broad shoulders. In the sunlight, he could tell the man’s hair was a light brown. He had thought so when he had seen him in the tavern but it was hard to be sure with such poor lighting. Filing that tidbit away, D’Artagnan tipped his hat down to shield his face and began following him, careful to stay far enough back that the man would not notice him. All he needed for now was a general location, either of his home or his shop, assuming he was a merchant of some sort. Once he had that, he could begin working on finding out the man’s name along with everything else about him.

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

Aramis was the last to return home that day, arriving shortly after D’Artagnan. He stowed his saddlebags in their room and joined Athos and Porthos in the sitting room. He offered to help Constance with dinner but she had shooed him out of the kitchen, telling him that she had it in hand and she would call him if she had need of him.

When he entered the room, Athos and Porthos immediately moved apart on the small sofa, making room for him. “You know you do not always have to do that,” Aramis said as he settled between them. 

“We know,” Athos replied, “but we like you between us.”

“Between you or *between* you?” Aramis smirked. 

“Bit frisky for a man who just came back from *Confession*, don’t ya think?” Porthos teased.

“Porthos,” Aramis groaned. “Must you remind me of such things?”

“’Fraid so, love,” Porthos laughed. “And as much as Constance says otherwise, I don’t think she’d take it too well if she walked in here and found us, uh…”

“I had assumed we would go upstairs,” Aramis told him blushing furiously at the very thought of Constance walking in and finding them in such a way.

“You’re adorable when you blush like that,” Porthos told him. “Though I don’t know if that’s your I’m-completely-mortified blush or your I’m-hard-in-my-breeches blush.”

“Porthos!” Aramis nearly shouted, scowling at him. 

“Hey, hey, now. Sorry,” Porthos said, laughing at the look of outrage on his lover’s face. 

“You are a horrible man,” Aramis told him then turned to Athos. “And you are not helping.”

“What did I do?” Athos asked.

“Exactly!”

“Porthos, you will stop teasing Aramis, at least about Constance,” Athos told him using his best commanding officer voice.

“Yes, Sir,” Porthos replied, still snickering. He reached out then and tugged Aramis into his arms. “I’m sorry, love. I really was just teasing you a bit. I would never do anything to make her uncomfortable. You know that.”

“I know,” Aramis relented, relaxing against Porthos. “I just… I cannot help but still worry for her. She has gone to such great lengths to ensure that we are happy, that we are safe here. I would not see her own feelings of security… damaged by our presence.”

“Ah, hey, we won’t let that happen. I promise. Right, Athos?”

“Right, indeed,” Athos told him, closing the short distance between them to press against Aramis’ back. “We shall protect her, love. As fiercely as we protect each other.”

They stayed like that for long minutes, enjoying the closeness of each other. It felt good to be like this, touching and holding without the worry of being seen by prying eyes. However something, or rather someone, was missing. “Wherever has our Whelp gotten to?” Aramis asked after a time.

“Out back, I think,” Porthos said. “He got home right before you did and headed straight outside. Said he wanted to sit outside for a bit.”

“You sound worried,” Aramis noted.

“Something’s going on with him,” Porthos. “Don’t know what, but something.”

“Perhaps you should go and talk with him,” Athos suggested. 

“I…” Porthos hesitated. “Yeah. Yeah, maybe I should. Never really got the chance back at the Maison.”

“Talk to him, brother,” Athos told him. “Clear the air between you. We ride out in the morning. Do not leave this hanging between you.”

“And if he still will not talk to me?” Porthos asked, voicing his greatest fear at the moment.

“Then at least you will have tried,” Aramis told him. 

Athos and Aramis watched as Porthos left in search of their youngest. They hoped that D’Artagnan would be willing to listen to the other man this time. They knew he did not turn away Porthos’ attempts at apology out of malice or spite. He truly did not believe them warranted so had no wish to hear them. Porthos, however, needed D’Artagnan to hear them. He needed the younger man to know that he was sorry for how he had acted and to let him know that everything between them was not lost.

“Do you think he will listen this time?” Aramis asked worriedly.

“I do not know,” Athos sighed. “But the effort should be made regardless. And if he does not, then I will take him aside myself and explain what it is that Porthos needs from him. He will forgive his brother whether he believes it necessary or not.”

“You should not force him…”

“I will not have to,” Athos assured him. “Once he understands what Porthos needs and why, he will offer it himself willingly.”

“I hope so,” Aramis said. “I hate seeing him hurting like this and knowing there is nothing I can do to help.”

“You never have been able to watch one of us suffering without doing something about it,” Athos replied. “It is one of the things that made me fall in love with you.”

“Do you… do you ever regret…” Aramis trailed off.

“Regret?” Athos prompted. “Regret what, love?”

“Any of this?” Aramis asked softly. 

“The only regret I have is the pain I have caused my family.”

“So you would not go back and change things if you could?” Aramis pressed.

“Aramis, what is it that you truly wish to know?” Athos asked.

Aramis paused for a moment and seemed to gather his courage. “Would you… would you have been happier if I had kept silent about my feelings for Porthos? If it had remained just us two?”

“No,” Athos told him gently. “Would it have been easier? Perhaps. But it would not have been better, for we would not have had Porthos and D’Artagnan.”

“But…”

“There is no but,” Athos stopped him. “It eases me greatly to know that there will always be someone there for you, or any of you really, should something happen to me. And, as I have so recently been reminded, love for one need not affect our love for another.”

“And you do not mind that I invited Constance into our home without so much as asking the rest of you?” Aramis asked, bringing up the other worry that had been plaguing him of late.

“No,” Athos assured him. “I am glad that you did. You, like D’Artagnan, love her as dearly as a sister, that much is clear for all to see. I would happily welcome her into our home. Do not worry yourself about this. Porthos and I are both content with how things have turned out. We would not change them, not any of them.”

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

Outside, Porthos stood by the back door and watched D’Artagnan for a moment. He was sitting up against the big tree in Constance’s backyard seemingly lost in thought. He could tell from there that something was on the lad’s mind. Clearing his throat so as not to startle the other man, Porthos pushed away from the wall and crossed the yard to where he sat.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked once he was standing next to him. 

“You are always welcome wherever I am,” D’Artagnan told him. He had not reacted in any way to Porthos’ approach, letting the man know that he had been aware of him all along. That, at least, helped ease Porthos’ mind a bit.

“You forgive too damn easy,” Porthos grumbled as he sat down on the ground next to him.

D’Artagnan turned his head to look at him then. “I will always forgive my brothers regardless of the transgression,” he told him. 

“C’mere,” Porthos said and turned to manhandle D’Artagnan into his arms.

For his part, D’Artagnan went willingly, letting Porthos maneuver him as he would. When he felt the bigger man’s arms encircle him, he slid his own around Porthos and held him back. “I am here, brother. I will not leave your side, I swear it. There is no need to fear,” D’Artagnan whispered as he sought to soothe the other man.

“Love you, Whelp,” Porthos choked out.

“I know you do. I believe you and I love you as well.”

Porthos held him for a few moments longer then dipped his head down. He hesitated when his face was next to the other man’s. “Can I kiss you?” he asked, not wanting to push the lad too far.

D’Artagnan did not reply. Instead, he leaned up and pressed his lips to Porthos’, hopefully letting him know that *this* was not something he needed to ask permission for. He could feel Porthos doing his best to keep the kiss between them chaste. While he appreciated the effort, it was not necessary and D’Artagnan opened his mouth and gently swiped his tongue across Porthos’ lips earning him a groan from the other man.

Taking advantage of his opening, D’Artagnan slipped his tongue into Porthos’ mouth and began to kiss him deeply. He had only shared such a kiss with Porthos once and, even then, it had been brief. This was anything but and the feel of those strong arms wrapped around him, those wide hands holding him close, was doing wicked things to his libido.

Finally, Porthos forced himself to pull back, though he did not want to. “D’Artagnan,” he groaned when the younger man rested his forehead against his. “We… we gotta stop.”

“Why?” D’Artagnan panted.

“’Cause if we don’t I’m gonna end up takin’ you right here,” Porthos growled. “And I know you want Athos for that first. Besides, it’s almost supper time. Wouldn’t do to have Constance come lookin’ for us and find me debauching her boy in the backyard.”

“God,” D’Artagnan groaned and threw his head back, exposing his throat to Porthos’ hungry gaze. 

“Come on,” Porthos said and lifted the other man off of him. It was that or attack that long, lean throat stretched out right there just begging for him to bite it. 

It took D’Artagnan a moment to steady himself then he was reaching down and helping Porthos to his feet. “Let’s go, brother,” he told him. “After dinner…”

“Yeah?” Porthos prompted, unsure what the boy was offering, if anything.

“Whatever you want,” D’Artagnan told him, his eyes burning hotly as he looked up at him. “However you want it.”


	5. Chapter 5

Part 5

“Athos, a word?” D’Artagnan said as they headed toward the kitchen. 

Athos nodded at Aramis and hung back, waiting for the younger man. “Is everything alright?” he asked once they were alone.

“Fine,” he grinned then looked away, blushing slightly. 

“What is it?” Athos asked, taking him by the chin and turning his head to face him.

“I would spend the night with Porthos tonight,” D’Artagnan said after a moment. “If you’ve no objection, that is.”

Athos hesitated, surprised by the turn of events. “Just the two of you?” 

“Yes,” D’Artagnan confirmed. “He and I… we… we need to reconnect.”

“I understand,” Athos told him smiling gently. “If you have need of us, Aramis and I will be right next door.”

“I do still want my first time to be with you,” D’Artagnan assured him.

“You do not have to wait for me, love,” Athos replied. “I will not begrudge you this.”

“I have waited for you for this long,” he told him. “I will wait forever if needs must. Besides, there are any number of ways we can lie together without doing that.”

“Indeed,” Athos grinned. 

After dinner D’Artagnan, blushing hotly, led Porthos upstairs, leaving the others below. Constance had looked at them then back at Athos’ smirking face and found herself blushing as well. “Second bedroom, right,” she said as she busied herself with her sewing.

“Dare I ask?” Aramis ventured as he made himself comfortable with Athos on the sofa.

“D’Artagnan wished some time alone to reconnect with Porthos,” Athos explained. 

“Ah,” Aramis replied. “That… that is good.”

“Have things been strained between them?” Constance asked, picking up on what the two men were not saying.

“A bit,” Athos admitted. “There was a… misunderstanding at the Maison. They had not properly talked it out until now.”

“A misunderstanding about what?” she asked.

“About me,” Aramis answered before Athos could try to deflect the question.

“About you?” she repeated, confused. “Why?”

Aramis did not reply, looking away instead. He felt his face flush in shame. He hated that he had been the cause of discord among his brothers and now, to have to explain to Constance why was even worse. D’Artagnan had said she had accepted it but he still found it hard to believe that she did not find it, and therefore him, disgusting in some way because of it.

“Aramis?” she called softly. “Is this… is this because of what D’Artagnan told me about?”

“Yes,” Aramis told her, turning to face her once more.

She saw the shame and fear in his eyes when he looked at her and she was up and across the room before she even realized she had moved. She sat down on the other side of him and put her arms around him, drawing him to her. 

“Did D’Arta…” she began then stopped herself. She took a deep breath and tried again. “Did your Master not tell you we spoke of this?”

“Yes,” Aramis answered quietly. His entire body had gone still when she had referred to D’Artagnan as his Master.

“Then why did you look at me as if you were afraid?” she asked.

“Because I was.”

“Well, do not be,” she told him firmly. “You have nothing to fear in this house. At least not from me. I admit, I do not entirely understand the relationship between you but in time I know that I will come to. You will teach me, will you not?”

“You wish to learn?” Aramis asked, dazed.

“I wish to understand all that there is about my family,” she told him. “Including this. D’Artagnan said it was something that you needed. If there is any way I can help…”

“Constance,” Athos broke in. He did not think she understood just what she might be offering.

“Oh hush you,” she told him. “I may not understand all of this but if there is something that he needs and I can help him with it then I will.”

“Forgive me, Madame, but you do understand that this is sexual in nature?” Athos argued.

“Not always,” Aramis countered softly. 

“No, I suppose getting your backside tanned was not,” Athos conceded. “Though I do not think the lady would be quite willing to take a strap to you.”

“You would be surprised just what the *lady* would be willing to do if he had need of it,” Constance replied hotly. “And if you keep on you will find out first hand just how well I can wield a strap.”

“Careful, Athos,” Aramis chuckled. “Sister does have quite the arm on her.”

“You would know,” she teased.

They fell silent then, content to simply sit together. She stayed there beside them, not wanting to leave their company and Aramis seemed happy to remain within the circle of her arms. She glanced at Athos over his head, trying to gauge whether or not he was angry with her but he smiled letting her know that he had not taken her scolding to heart.

“That was what they fought over,” Aramis said, seemingly out of nowhere.

“What?” Constance asked, not quite understanding.

“D’Artagnan… disciplining me. Porthos… he did not take seeing bruises upon me well.”

“Oh. No, I suppose he wouldn’t,” she said. “Not if he hadn’t been expecting them.”

“He got angry,” Aramis continued, wanting her to know. “He… he charged at D’Artagnan. Athos… Athos stopped him. He was sorry, once he had calmed, but the damage was done.”

“Yes. Yes, I’m sure it was. D’Artagnan, he does not trust easily. He would have been wary of getting close again,” Constance remarked, remembering her own trials with the young man.

“They had not really talked since it happened,” Athos added. “Today was the first time they have really tried to rebuild what was between them.”

“Well then, I suppose we had best leave them to it,” Constance said with a soft chuckle. 

“If you truly wish to… to understand, I will do my best to explain,” Aramis told her. “There are times, however, when I do not fully understand myself. I know I have done a poor job in helping Athos to understand this. Perhaps I can do better with you.”

“You have done well enough, love,” Athos told him. “It is no shortcoming of yours that I struggle with this. And it is not that I do not understand the appeal of… of serving, for you know very well that I do.”

“Oh,” Constance gasped in sudden understanding, Athos pinking cheeks a dead giveaway.

“Have we finally managed to shock you at last?” Aramis asked, leaning up to look her in the eyes.

“Only in the fact that *Athos* could sufficiently unbend enough for such,” she said saucily.

Aramis could not help but throw back his head and laugh. It was true that Athos was one of the last people to ever be expected to seek such pleasures. But Aramis knew his brother’s heart and understood some of the things that drove him to act as he did. Sneaking a glance at him, he was relieved to see that he was not angry at either Constance’s words or his outburst and he leaned over and kissed him soundly in thanks.

“I assure you, Sister, Athos is *quite* bendable,” Aramis teased, making both Athos and Constance blush anew.

“As I was saying,” Athos said clearing his throat. “I understand the appeal of giving oneself over. What I cannot reconcile is feeling the need to be punished.”

“My God, you can be such a hypocrite sometimes,” Constance admonished.

“I beg your pardon?” Athos replied, arching an eyebrow.

“You cannot understand the desire to be punished? You, who spent night after night trying to poison yourself with alcohol. You, who… who chained yourself to your memories and all but let them drown you. You cannot understand? Really?”

Athos had the good graces to look away then. He would never have equated his own self-destructive streak with Aramis’ penchant for physical punishment. But, to an outsider, he could see how very similar they must look. He had to wonder, if they looked so very similar to Constance, how must they look to Aramis? How must all of his brothers see his past? 

“She did not mean it as a rebuke,” Aramis told him softly. 

“Of course not,” she agreed. She reached past Aramis and took Athos’ hands in hers. “I hold your past against you no more than your brothers do. I only meant that your needs are not so different than Aramis’ or at least at one time they were not.”

“Very well,” Athos said, letting the subject drop for now. He would give it more thought later. “Are there things in particular you wish to know or should we simply begin plying you with knowledge until you admit defeat?”

“I assure you, Monsieur, I shall never admit defeat,” she grinned. “But there are some few questions I have, if you do not mind me asking.”

“Ask what you will,” Aramis told her. “We do not keep secrets from each other. I would have it be the same with you.”

“Alright,” she nodded. “D’Artagnan said… he said you only asked him to punish you once.”

“That is correct,” Aramis replied.

“He said it was because you felt you had acted improperly,” she continued.

“I had.”

Constance took a moment to steady herself, not at all sure she was ready for the answer to what she was about to ask but needing to know all the same. “Do you feel you acted improperly the other night?”

“Constance!” Athos snapped angrily, hoping to stop Aramis from answering.

“Yes,” Aramis said evenly then turned to Athos. “Leave her be, Athos. She is only asking a question that we all already knew the answer to anyway, including her. I am merely grateful that she had the courage to voice it aloud.”

“You do not need *encouragement* in this regard,” Athos nearly hissed.

“If you think I require encouragement, brother, then you are blind,” Aramis told him. “You were merely hoping no one would mention the incident and I would *forget*. I assure you, I would not have.”

“Perhaps we should discuss this another time,” Constance said. She had not meant to upset Athos so. She knew he did not like this aspect of Aramis’ need but she had not expected such a vehement protest on his part.

“No,” Aramis said. “If Athos is so bothered by the discussion, he can excuse himself. You asked if I felt I had behaved improperly. The answer is yes. My behavior was deplorable and I apologize profusely for it.”

“That is alright,” she told him as she let go of Athos’ hands and reached up to caress his cheek. “You were upset and overwrought. It happens to the best of us. Are you going to ask your Master to punish you for it?”

“No,” Aramis replied. He felt Athos relax next to him at his words and smiled slightly. “I considered it but I know you do not wish me to and my desire not to upset you is far greater than my desire to atone.”

“If this is something you need…”

“Not this time,” Aramis assured her. “There will be times, I promise you. I know myself well enough to know that. But this is not one of them.”

“Alright,” Constance relented. “Just… do not hide yourself… do not *harm* yourself in order to protect me. And know that you can come to me if you have need of me. For anything, Aramis. For anything.”

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

“Are you sure about this, lad?” Porthos asked once the door was firmly closed behind them. He had allowed the younger man to lead him up the stairs and to the second bedroom. He had watched while he had closed and locked the door, ensuring they would not be interrupted. While part of him could not wait to tumble the lad into bed, the rest was worried that it was too soon.

“I am sure,” D’Artagnan told him. “I want this and I want you. But if you are unsure, brother, nothing more need happen than already has.”

“Come here,” Porthos growled as he reached out and snagged D’Artagnan by the shirt. He pulled the younger man to him and kissed him hard, thrusting his tongue into his mouth as he used his hand in his hair to pull his head back.

D’Artagnan grabbed onto Porthos’ arms and let himself be manhandled. His brother’s strength excited him and he felt himself harden in his breeches as Porthos held him tight, making sure he knew he was going nowhere his brother did not wish him to. The feel of Porthos’ tongue shoving deep into his mouth and stroking over his own possessively made him moan and he could not suppress a shiver of want as lust pooled low in his belly.

“You alright?” Porthos asked as he pulled back slightly. He had felt the boy start to tremble in his arms and needed to make sure all was still well.

“God, yes,” D’Artagnan moaned, tightening his grip on the other man’s arms. He was not used to feeling so dwarfed by his lover and it was making him nearly dizzy with want.

“What do you want, lad?” Porthos asked as he began to nip and suck along his jaw and neck. “Tell me. Tell me what I can do to make you spend crying out my name.”

“Fuck,” D’Artagnan swore, thrusting his hardness against Porthos’ hip. 

Porthos chuckled at the state his young lover appeared to be in, already so close to the brink. “Already so hot for it,” he murmured into his ear. “What’s got you so worked up? Is it knowing the others are right downstairs knowing exactly what we’re doing up here? Is that it? Is it the thought of Aramis knowing I’m having you?”

“No,” D’Artagnan moaned as he thrust against Porthos’ hip again, grinding his erection against the other man.

“No? What is it then? Tell me,” Porthos urged.

“You,” D’Artagnan managed to grit out. “Just you. The feel of you… so big… strong…”

“You like that?” Porthos gasped as he grasped his hips and hauled him against him roughly. “You like me being so big and strong? You like me being able to just… just take what I want?”

“Yes,” D’Artagnan gasped. Porthos’ hands were nearly large enough to meet around his waist and it made him feel even smaller in comparison. “Want… want my own bruises…”

Porthos groaned at that, picturing the bruises he had put on Athos quite clearly. “Like the ones I put on Athos? Those bruises?”

“Yeah,” D’Artagnan told him. “It’s… it’s knowing you could… could do whatever you wanted… take whatever you wanted… but that you never would… that I couldn’t be safer…”

“Whelp,” Porthos whispered, his words making his heart clench. How the boy still trusted him like this after everything, Porthos would never understand. But he was beyond grateful for it and he vowed then and there to be worthy of it. 

D’Artagnan gripped Porthos by the face and kissed him hard, pouring everything he felt for the man into it. He did his best to convey all of the love and lust and respect and trust he felt, hoping Porthos would understand. By the time he pulled back, they were both panting hard and everything D’Artagnan felt he could see mirrored back in Porthos’ eyes.

“Gonna strip you naked and take everything I want from you,” Porthos growled as he manhandled D’Artagnan over to the bed and then threw him down on it. He started with his boots, pulling them off then attacked the lad’s breeches and small clothes. In no time at all, he had the younger man spread out on the bed completely naked.

“You planning on getting undressed or just taking me like that?” D’Artagnan asked him huskily, waving his hand to indicate Porthos’ still clothed form.

“You got an objection either way?” Porthos grinned, gratified when the boy’s breathing seemed to speed up at the thought of Porthos debauching him while still fully clothed.

“Whatever you want. However you want it,” D’Artagnan told him, echoing his words from earlier.

Porthos took the time to yank his boots off and jerk his shirt over his head. He left his breeches on, though. He knew the boy did *not* want to get fucked, at least not by him, not yet. If he left his breeches on they would act as a reminder of just that and there was less of a chance of getting carried away and going too far.

Down to his just his breeches, he crawled onto the bed and covered D’Artagnan’s body with his own. He felt the boy thrust up against him and moaned as he writhed against him. Fisting one hand in his hair, he held his head in place and began to kiss him deeply. He thrust his tongue into his mouth, tasting him thoroughly. He kept it up until he felt the boy relax beneath him then he pulled back and looked down into his eyes.

“So fucking beautiful,” Porthos told him as he looked at him, grinning when he blushed at the compliment. “Tell me what I can’t do. Tell me where I can’t touch you.”

“Nothing,” D’Artagnan rasped. “Nowhere. I’m yours.”

“Your sweet little hole ain’t,” Porthos reminded him.

D’Artagnan blushed even harder but did not try to look away. “You can… with your fingers,” he offered. 

Porthos groaned hotly, his own cock throbbing in his breeches. “You don’t have to do that, lad,” he told him. “I know you want that for Athos… and Aramis.”

“Want it with you, too,” D’Artagnan told him. “And I know I don’t have to, but if you want to, you can.”

“Do you want me to?” Porthos asked. For him, that made all the difference. If the boy wanted it, he would gladly take him that way, but if it was just for him, there were other things they could do.

“Yes,” D’Artagnan said softly. His face felt like it was on fire and he tried to look away this time but Porthos’ hand in his hair held his head locked in place forcing him to meet the other man’s eyes.

“Then you’ll have it,” Porthos told him. “You’ll have everything I can give you.”

“Does that include your cock down my throat?” D’Artagnan asked, wanting to ensure Porthos’ pleasure as well.

“Fuck,” Porthos swore then chuckled darkly. “Yeah. Yeah, it does. Matter of fact, I think now might be a real good time for that.” Letting go of D’Artagnan’s hair, Porthos sat up on his knees. He unlaced his breeches and small clothes and freed his erect cock with a sigh of relief.

D’Artagnan lay where he was, watching avidly as Porthos freed himself. He had seen the bigger man before but this was the first time he had seen his cock quite this close and this was the first time it was hard for *him*. Licking his lips in anticipation, he waited for Porthos to let him know how he wanted him. Part of him wanted the big man to simply fuck his mouth, using him as he would. Another part of him wanted Porthos to put him on his knees and demand he pleasure him, making D’Artagnan work for it.

As soon as he was freed from his remaining clothing, Porthos crawled back onto the bed with D’Artagnan. He lay down on his back next to the other man then pulled him over on top of him and kissed him once more. Only when D’Artagnan was writhing atop him, did Porthos finally relinquish the kiss. 

“Go on then,” Porthos told him with a grin. “Show me what you can do with that pretty mouth of yours, Whelp.”

D’Artagnan smiled cheekily and quickly slid down the other man’s body until he came to rest between his spread thighs. He swallowed thickly at the sight of Porthos’ hard cock inches from his face then reached out and wrapped his hand around it. Somehow, it felt even bigger than it looked and D’Artagnan began to wonder how he would ever fit it in his mouth.

“Easy, Whelp,” Porthos said as he reached down and stroked the boy’s hair gently. “No need to rush here and you can always change your mind. I know I can be a might… intimidatin’ the first time or two. It’s okay if you want to do something else.”

“I want to please you,” D’Artagnan said as he stroked him, causing Porthos to shudder.

“Just being here with me… like this… is pleasing me,” Porthos told him. “I don’t want you doing something you don’t want to or you’re not ready for. We got time.”

“I would like to try,” D’Artagnan replied. “I don’t know how good I’ll be at it. I’ve never… not with someone so…”

“Just take your time and know whatever you do, I’ll like because it’s you.”

D’Artagnan smiled up at him then leaned forward and placed a single kiss on the head of his cock earning him a moan. Smiling wider, he followed it with his tongue, tasting the other man for the first time. He felt Porthos’ cock pulse in his hand and could feel him fighting to hold himself still. Giving it a few more licks, D’Artagnan opened his mouth wide and took the head inside. 

The feeling of Porthos filling his mouth was a heady one and D’Artagnan moaned around him. It felt like he could barely breathe as he did his best to stroke what he did manage to take in with the flat of his tongue. He could feel Porthos’ thighs shaking as he held himself in check and D’Artagnan squeezed him with is free hand as he slid his mouth down a bit farther and suckled.

Porthos could not hold back a shout when he felt the boy inch his mouth down on him and begin to suck. He could feel how much he was stretching the lad, how much he was fighting to take him in and it was all he could do to keep from thrusting up into that tight, wet heat engulfing him. He balled his hands into fists to keep them from sinking into the boy’s hair and shoving him down and wondered how much more of this he could take.

Luckily, D’Artagnan could tell that Porthos was close to losing what little hold he had on his control and slowly pulled his mouth off of him. He placed another kiss on the head of his cock and stroked him, trying to help ease him back down a bit. 

“Get up here,” Porthos growled once he could think again. Without waiting for the boy to comply, he gripped him under the arms and hauled him up until he was lying beside him once more. Rolling him onto his back, Porthos shoved his tongue in his mouth, eager to taste himself on the boy’s tongue.

D’Artagnan gasped into Porthos’ mouth, moaning once again at being handled so roughly. The feel of the bigger man over and around him was making it hard to think straight and all he wanted to do was rut until he spent himself dry.

“Still want my fingers inside you, boy?” Porthos panted into his ear suddenly. 

D’Artagnan’s hips tried to thrust of their own accord but Porthos’ heavier weight held him in place. “Yes,” he rasped as he clung to his lover. “God, yes. Please.”

Porthos rolled to the side then, releasing him. “Turn on your belly,” he said as he reached into the bedside table and groped for the oil they kept there. He had to turn away to find it and when he turned back, the sight of D’Artagnan, naked and on his belly, legs spread for him, was nearly his undoing. 

Once he had managed to calm himself and was no longer in danger of spending then and there, Porthos moved back over until he was lying pressed against D’Artagnan’s side. He drizzled some of the oil onto the fingers of one hand then set the small jar carefully aside. 

“Gonna touch you now, lad,” Porthos warned him softly. 

“Please,” D’Artagnan whispered back encouragingly. He wanted Porthos to know that he wanted this just as much as he did.

“Yeah, okay,” Porthos said mostly to himself as he let his oiled fingers slide up and down the boy’s cleft slowly.

As soon as he felt Porthos’ fingers *there*, D’Artagnan gripped the bed sheets tightly and spread his legs even more, trying to bare himself to the other man as much as he could. He had only ever been touched there once and it had felt nothing at all like this. Before he knew what was happening, he felt Porthos’ finger brushing against his hole, not trying to breach him, but simply touching him there as if getting him accustomed to the sensation.

“Please,” D’Artagnan moaned again as he tried to push back onto Porthos’ finger. He felt like he was going out of his mind as his body began to burn from the inside out.

“Shhh… easy, lad,” Porthos said, trying to soothe him. “I don’t want to hurt you. My cock isn’t the only thing that’s big on me.”

“Please, Porthos,” D’Artagnan begged, heedless of the risk. He turned his head and looked over his shoulder at the other man, letting him see the desperation in his eyes. That was more than Porthos could take and he carefully began to push his finger inside, breaching D’Artagnan for the first time.

He stopped as soon as he’d gotten past the ring of muscle, trying to give the lad time to adjust. D’Artagnan, however, was done waiting. He pushed up onto his hands and knees and shoved back hard, burying Porthos’ finger all the way inside him. The feeling of being so suddenly filled left him moaning and shaking, his body burning from the unaccustomed stretch but he did not care. To feel Porthos inside of him so deeply was worth the small discomfort.

“Damn it, Whelp,” Porthos swore as his finger was suddenly engulfed in what felt like a searing vise. He held still, knowing that to suddenly jerk back would hurt the boy just as much as what the fool had already done. Taking a breath, he slowly began to ease his finger back out, but was stopped by the younger man’s plaintive wail.

“Don’t, please,” D’Artagnan pleaded. 

“I don’t want to hurt you, boy,” Porthos insisted.

“You are not,” D’Artagnan told him. “It… it stung… at first. But not now. Please, Porthos. I want this.”

Porthos hesitated, unsure if he should believe him or not. “Alright,” he agreed. “If it doesn’t hurt, tell me what it does feel like then.”

“Full,” D’Artagnan said, after a moment. “So full. Like it can’t be just your finger though I know that’s all it is. And… and…”

“And what, lad?”

“And good,” he said at last, giving up on being able to explain it any other way.

“Alright,” Porthos laughed, relieved. “I’ll take good for now. You ready for me to fuck you?”

D’Artagnan whimpered and nodded, unable to reply. He gasped when he felt Porthos slide his finger nearly all the way out then moaned loudly when it was thrust back inside of him. In no time at all they established a rhythm that had D’Artagnan moving back and meeting Porthos’ hand as he fucked him.

“Gonna make you spend like this,” Porthos told him as he began to finger him faster. He thought about adding a second but did not. He knew the boy wanted Athos to be his first and did not want to take too much of that experience away from them. 

D’Artagnan only moaned louder at Porthos’ words, both excited and a bit embarrassed at the thought of spending from Porthos finger inside him alone. Then that long, thick finger crooked just right and he didn’t care about anything except more and deeper and harder as he thrust back against it over and over again.

As Porthos continued to do everything in his power to drive D’Artagnan out of his mind, he used his free hand to take hold of himself. His own cock was hard and aching and he knew it would not take much before he was spending as well, especially if the boy kept making the noises he was currently making.

All at once, D’Artagnan felt his entire body seize up as he clenched down hard on Porthos finger and began to spend. He moaned at the feel of that thick finger still moving inside of him as his seed spilled onto the bed sheets. It felt as if every movement of Porthos’ finger only made him spend harder, pushing more and more out of him and he could not help but whimper as he nearly collapsed onto the bed, his arms no longer able to hold him up.

As carefully as he could, Porthos pulled his finger from the spent lad then helped lay him out on his side. He kept him clear of most of the mess the two of them had made as he had found his own release just after him, unable to keep from spending as he watched the boy. Tugging the soiled sheet out from under him, he balled it up and threw it in the floor then joined D’Artagnan on the bare mattress. He snagged the end of the duvet as he did so and, tucking the lad against his side, covered them both. Sleep came quickly and peacefully that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As an aside, writing d'Art and Porthos is freaking hard!


	6. Chapter 6

Part 6

“Do you wish to check on them?” Aramis asked as he and Athos made ready for bed. They had retired to their bedroom, leaving Constance downstairs with her sewing.

“No,” Athos replied as he pulled Aramis into his arms. “I am sure they are fine and they know where to find us if they have need of us. I would have us spend tonight focusing on each other, if you do not mind, that is.”

“I do not mind at all,” Aramis smiled. “It has been far too long since we have taken time simply for the two of us. I… I have missed you.”

Athos inhaled sharply at Aramis’ unexpected words. “I have been here, brother,” he told him. “But I do understand the sentiment and… I have missed you, too.” Athos released him and took a step back then began to slowly remove Aramis’ clothes. He had always found the act of undressing his lover to be deeply fulfilling. It was his way of showing care and a degree of tenderness that he oftentimes struggled with.

Aramis allowed Athos to undress him, enjoying the slow, sensual process. Athos was taking his time, touching him almost reverently and it made Aramis feel both aroused and cherished at the same time. Once he was naked, he reached for Athos to return the gesture, but Athos shook his head and, instead, had him lie down on the bed.

With Aramis seen to, Athos quickly began removing his own clothes. He could feel Aramis’ heated gaze upon him and it made him ache to touch him. He wasted no time once he was naked as well and quickly climbed onto the bed beside his lover, pulling him into his arms and kissing him as he did his best to touch as much of the other man’s body as he could with his own.

Aramis responded eagerly, twining his legs with Athos’ and running his hands up and down the man’s back as they kissed. He realized as he lay there kissing and touching Athos how much he really had missed this. For even in his ardor, Athos was so very careful with him. His touch spoke of a reverence, a respect and devotion that no one else had ever shown him. Not even Porthos was as tender and careful with him as his Athos was.

“I do so love you, mi amor,” Aramis whispered as he pulled back and stared into Athos’ eyes. 

“Aramis…”

“The way you touch me,” Aramis continued. “As if I am the most precious thing in your world. As if you have never touched anything so… so sacred. It makes me feel… your love *humbles* me, Athos. That you could look at me and see such…”

“You are everything to me,” Athos told him. “I will love you with my last breath. I would sell my very soul for you.”

“Do not say that, Athos,” Aramis gasped.

“It is nothing but the truth,” Athos told him. “There is nothing I would not do for you. No torment I would endure for your sake.”

“Eternity is a very long time, my love.”

“And it would be worth every second of it to have this moment here and now,” Athos told him.

“My God, Athos, do you sit up at night trying to think of ways to make me weep?” Aramis asked, him, turning his head so he would not see the tears shining in his eyes.

“Aramis, look at me,” Athos said softly. He waited until the other man had turned back to face him then leaned forward and gently kissed him on each eye. “I love you. I cherish you. I will, however, try to refrain from making you cry.”

“Thank you,” Aramis chuckled as he struggled to get his emotions back under control. 

“Besides, there are much more pleasant things I would have us do in this bed,” Athos told him.

“Really?” Aramis replied with his best coy expression. “And just what might that be?”

“I thought I might use my mouth to lay worship to every part of you,” Athos told him. “Then, when you are a writhing, moaning, incoherent mess, I thought I would take you in my mouth until you spend. Unless, of course, you would prefer some other activity.”

“And… and what of you?” Aramis rasped, the picture Athos invoked making him ache with want. 

“If I can manage to do all of that without spending myself it will be a true miracle, my heart,” Athos told him. 

The sound Aramis made was somewhere between a moan and a whimper. Grabbing hold of Athos’ arms, he rolled them over so that Athos was lying atop him, the weight of his body as reassuring as it was arousing. Leaning up, Aramis kissed him, sliding his tongue inside the other man’s mouth and tasting him fully.

Athos allowed Aramis to lead the kiss for a moment before taking control of it. He wound both of his hands in his lover’s hair and pulled his head back down to the bed as he continued to kiss him for long moments. With Aramis held in place, he finally broke away from his mouth and began kissing across his jaw and down his neck, biting and sucking as he went. He was careful not to leave too many marks where they would show above his uniform. He knew Aramis did not mind but he would not have others looking at his lover with anything short of the respect he deserved. That meant keeping his love bites confined to places where they could be concealed.

Once Athos reached the junction of neck and shoulder he tightened his grip on Aramis’ hair and sucked hard. This was a particularly sensitive spot for Aramis and Athos knew his ministrations there would have the man writhing and thrashing in no time. As predicted, Aramis quickly lost his composure and began trying to toss his head from side to side as Athos licked and sucked, biting down hard only to chase to sting away with lips and tongue while Aramis panted and moaned beneath him.

Aramis felt as if he were on fire. Athos was focusing all of his attention on *that* spot… the one that could make him hard and aching with just a touch. He could already feel a bruise forming there and he moaned so loudly he thought they might have heard him next door. Then he realized that he didn’t care as Athos sank his teeth into him again, biting down and sucking hard at the same time.

“Easy, love,” Athos soothed as he felt Aramis shaking beneath him. It would not due to have Aramis spending himself already. He had barely even begun to lay worship to the man as he wished to. 

“Please,” Aramis gasped as he tried to thrust his hips up into Athos. 

“One day, very soon, I will have you spending from nothing more than my mouth right here,” Athos whispered hotly. “But today, there is more of you I wish to taste. Tell me, love, shall I taste you as you tasted me?”

“H-h-ho-how do you mean?” Aramis stammered, hardly able to form a coherent thought at the moment.

“When D’Artagnan had me,” Athos continued to whisper. “When you prepared me with your mouth. Shall I taste you like that?”

“Dios! Por favor, amante,” Aramis groaned, understanding what Athos meant. 

“You would like that then?” Athos teased, enjoying turning the tables on Aramis in such a manner for once.

“Only… only if you… if you want to,” Aramis managed to get out. It was not an act that suited everyone and Aramis did not want Athos to do something he did not want simply to please him. He would never want that, no matter how much the idea turned him on.

“I would try everything with you,” Athos told him sincerely. Slowly, he released the hold he had on Aramis’ hair and began to trail kisses down his chest. He paused at his nipples, licking and sucking them each in turn as Aramis gasped out his pleasure. He could feel his lover’s hardness pressing into his stomach and it thrilled him to know he was bringing Aramis such pleasure, even as his own hardness throbbed between his legs.

As he made his way down Aramis’ chest and belly, he paused to kiss each scar. As much as he hated seeing them on his lover’s body, each was a reminder that he still lived, a reminder of his strength and vitality, making them precious to Athos. 

He spent some few moments, licking and kissing Aramis’ navel, careful to keep his touches firm enough not to tickle. From the way his lover continued to writhe and moan, Athos did not think he had much to worry about in that regard. 

Bypassing his cock, Athos moved on to Aramis’ thighs, kissing his way down one only to lick his way back up the other. When he was back at his groin once more, he spread his legs wide, holding them open and leaned down to lick a wide stripe across Aramis’ tightening bollocks.

The feel of Athos’ hot, wet tongue gliding across his bollocks took Aramis by surprise and he thrust up hard, shouting as he did so. He thought for one moment that he might spend right there but Athos had pulled back and his body had settled back down, albeit grudgingly. Panting hard, Aramis looked down his body at his lover and felt a wave of lust wash over him at the sight of Athos lying between his wide-spread thighs, his face mere inches from his straining cock.

“Please,” Aramis begged, his entire body crying out for relief from the wonderful torment that was Athos’ mouth.

“But I have not finished tasting you yet, my love,” Athos told him with a smirk. 

Aramis had a moment to realize what was about to happen then Athos’ head was dipping between his legs and his tongue was sliding down past his bollocks to dip between his cheeks for the first time. Aramis cried out again, unmindful of who might hear him as Athos’ tongue began to run up and down his cleft. He fisted his hands in the bed sheets to keep from reaching for his lover’s head and screwed his eyes shut, wanting to focus all of his attention on the feel of Athos’ tongue upon him.

Realizing he needed more room, Athos pulled back for a moment and adjusted his grip on Aramis’ legs. Holding him just below the knees, he pushed his legs back, lifting his backside up off the bed slightly and exposing his hole. With Aramis now bared to him, he wasted no time and dipped his head back down to taste him properly.

“Athos!” Aramis nearly screamed as Athos’ tongue licked directly over his hole for the first time. “Querido amor… amante… por favor…” 

Athos kept up his assault, the sound of Aramis crying out to him in Spanish making his own cock throb and ache. Wanting to see if he could make him spend this way, Athos began to probe at Aramis’ hole with his tongue, gently at first then more firmly as he tried to push inside of him for the first time.

Aramis felt like he had been on the brink for hours but when Athos finally pushed his tongue inside of him it was as if he had been struck. Every muscle seemed to freeze at once then he was nearly convulsing as he began to spend on his own belly, his cock completely untouched.

Athos could feel Aramis’ body clenching around his tongue and knew that he had found his release. The knowledge that he had made him spend, like this, without so much as a hand on him was enough to push Athos over the edge as well. With a strangled shout, he began to spend, his own untouched cock spilling his seed against Aramis’ upturned thigh and the bed sheets beneath them.

By the time it was over, they were both breathing hard. Athos had pulled back and let Aramis’ legs down as gently as he could, laying his head to rest against the other man’s thigh. He tried to keep him out of the worst of the mess but knew they would have to get up to change out the bedding before they could sleep for the night. For now, however, he was content to lay where he was. With Aramis.


	7. Chapter 7

Part 7

They headed for the garrison before the sun was up, eager to be on their way. Constance had seen them off, giggling behind her hand at the amount of blushing the four of them did. She had refrained from teasing them but she need not have bothered. They had taken one look at her in the kitchen and had turned various shades of pink. Aramis had stammered out something about seeing to their own washing when they returned and she had nearly swallowed her own tongue trying to keep from laughing. She decided as she watched them walk down the lane that she would have their rooms all nice and ready for them when they returned, just to see what shades of red they might all turn.

Since Treville had already given them their orders they went directly to the stables and saddled their mounts. It was just over a day’s ride to the first of the villages the Captain had mapped out for them. The more ground they covered today, the earlier they could arrive and begin their investigation. With that thought in mind, they rode out, ready to reclaim their titles as Musketeers.

The day passed uneventfully and they made camp just before sunset. They considered continuing to ride into the night but there was no guarantee that the first village they came to would even have an inn and it could be treacherous to travel on unfamiliar roads in the dark. It would be better to make camp and arrive rested first thing in the morning.

They found a small clearing far enough from the road to provide concealment that would suffice for a night. D’Artagnan saw to their horses while Porthos began gathering stones for a fire ring. Athos headed in his direction but Aramis’ hand on his arm stopped him.

“Can the three of you set up the camp?” Aramis asked a bit uncertainly.

“Yes,” Athos replied. “Is there a reason…?”

“I have some things I need to attend to,” Aramis hedged, unsure how to explain himself.

“Aramis, look at me,” Athos said. He waited for Aramis to meet his eyes before continuing. “We can handle the camp. If you have something you need to do then by all means, see to it. But do not be afraid to tell me… to tell us… what it is. We are here for you, brother.”

“I would like to pray,” Aramis said softly. “I thought I could do so while you prepare the camp. I do not mean to shirk my responsibilities.”

“And you do not,” Athos told him firmly. “Solitude works best for such things, does it not?”

“Ye-yes,” Aramis replied, surprised by Athos’ easy acceptance. He knew his lover was not much of a believer, if at all. All of his brothers accepted his faith as part of him but none of them truly practiced. Not as he did. Or tried to at any rate.

“Perhaps off in the tree line,” Athos suggested. “Just… do not go far. I would have you stay within sight of the camp if our movements will not overly disturb your devotions.”

“I will stay where you can see me,” Aramis promised. “I am well used to tuning out such things. This is not the first time I have needed to pray around you lot.”

“Alright then,” Athos said, clapping him on the back. “And Aramis, if this is something that you feel you need to do, going forward that is, then we shall make time for it. You have but to let us know. You wield your faith like a weapon, brother. We would not see that weapon dulled unnecessarily.”

“What’s wrong with Aramis?” Porthos asked when Athos joined him collecting stones. He had watched the pair talk then seen Aramis move off to the opposite side of the clearing to settle himself on his knees just inside the tree line.

“He wishes time to pray,” Athos told him. “We shall be setting up camp for now.”

“Is he…”

“I do not think it is anything specific,” Athos said before Porthos could get too worried. “I think it is simply Aramis… adjusting. It was his faith, in large part, that saved us last time. We would all do well to remember that and not to be so hasty to disregard it.”

“You are right,” Porthos conceded. “We can handle this. Let him take care of what he needs to in that regard.”

“He will likely insist on helping in some way,” Athos cautioned. “You know he will not simply allow us to take over this duty while he does nothing.”

“Not doing nothing, though, is he?”

“No,” Athos agreed. “But he is not likely to see it that way.”

When D’Artagnan joined them they quickly explained about Aramis and he readily agreed with them. The three of them were more than capable of setting up camp for the night while Aramis attended to those matters most important to him.

They were just beginning to put together a simply meal when Aramis rose and rejoined them. “Thank you,” he said softly as he sat down in the space that had been left between Athos and Porthos.

“Nothing to thank us for,” Porthos said. “You were doing what you needed to for the night while we took care of the rest.”

“Porthos…”

“What? You really want *me* trying to pray?” Porthos teased. “I mean, I could, but I’m not sure how helpful it’d be. Not sure your God would pay much heed to anything I had to say.”

“He listens to all of His children,” Aramis told him earnestly. “Even those who have proven themselves wholly unworthy.”

“You best be talking about me and not yourself,” Porthos grumbled.

Aramis gasped and looked at Porthos, stricken. “You are one of the most worthy men I have ever known,” Aramis told him. 

“As are you, brother,” Athos replied softly. “And there is no argument you can give that will ever make us think otherwise.”

They slept close together, keenly aware, even in sleep of whichever of them was on watch and therefore missing from their circle. The night passed uneventfully. Not even dreams plaguing their rest and they awoke refreshed and ready to continue on their way. 

The first village they came to was so small it did not even have a name. It was more a clustering of small farms that relied on one another to get by. Athos was glad they had not tried to push through last night for they would have found no sanctuary here. As it was, the villagers were rather reluctant to speak with them. They blamed the girls’ disappearances on nothing more than youthful wanderlust and the lure of a better life. Knowing how reticent such close knit communities could be, especially when speaking of their own, they thought little of it as they headed to the next, hopefully larger, village.

The next village was slightly larger. It did, at least, have an inn of sorts so they decided to begin their investigation there. As they questioned the proprietor, they began to get a feeling of déjà vu. It was clear the man knew something but he refused to speak of it, claiming he had no knowledge and even going so far as to suggest they might be better served taking their questions out of their tiny hamlet altogether.

“I don’t like this,” Porthos said as they exited the inn and tried to decide where to go next. 

“Indeed,” Athos replied. “It is rather reminiscent of the townsfolk of Flamare.”

“Exactly,” Porthos said. 

“Let us try speaking with some of the families who reported the girls missing. Perhaps they will be more forthcoming,” Aramis suggested. He was just as bothered by the innkeeper’s unwillingness to help them as his brothers. However, they owed it to the missing girls and their families to do all they could.

Attempting to speak with the families proved equally trying if not more so. Aramis was particularly frustrated. He would have thought finding their daughters would have been of paramount concern but it appeared to be anything but. They found themselves stymied at every turn, whether it was speaking to the parents, both together and apart, speaking to siblings or speaking to servants. No one was willing to tell them anything. They all insisted that the girls had merely gone off on their own and that they had been wrong to report their disappearance in the first place. Some had even gone so far as to insinuate that they were better off without girls of *that sort* around to corrupt the other, more wholesome among them.

“Are they seriously calling a twelve year old a harlot?” Aramis had spat, aghast at the way the community seemed to turn on their own. 

“So it would seem,” Athos replied in disgust. He was as bothered as Aramis by these people’s attitudes. He could, perhaps, see one or two of the older girls being lured away by the dream of a better life in Paris, but certainly not all of them. And, as Aramis pointed out, most assuredly not those too young to even contemplate leaving their mothers’ bosoms. 

“This is wrong,” D’Artagnan said, shaking his head. “I grew up in a village not much larger than this. This is not how these people should be acting. Their village would never have survived if they did not care for one another in times of need.”

Porthos look about and frowned. None of them liked where this was going. It reminded them all too much of Flamare. “The hour grows late, brothers. Do we truly wish to stay here for the night?”

“No,” Aramis said at once. “I doubt the innkeeper would have rooms for us now anyway, but I would not stay regardless. Better we make camp somewhere along the road than remain here.”

“As you say,” Athos agreed, trusting Aramis’ instincts in this.

“I did not mean…”

“Peace, brother,” Athos told him. “If you feel it is not safe for us to stay here then we shall not. I trust your judgment as much now as ever, Aramis.”

Aramis took a steadying breath and nodded his thanks. “Let us head for the next village. We can stop somewhere between and make camp for the night. I do not think it wise to stay here nor do I think it wise to push on should we encounter the same… resistance… there.”

“Agreed,” Athos said.

“We might want to restock our provisions before we start asking questions at the next one,” D’Artagnan suggested. While they had enough to last them for now, they had planned on staying at an inn at some point. If the next village proved as inhospitable as this one, they would need to push on yet again. Better to get themselves reequipped before antagonizing the locals.

“Good idea, Whelp,” Porthos said.

They rode until they felt they had put a comfortable distance between them and village. When Aramis started gathering stones for the fire ring, Athos went to him and gently took them from his hands. “You have more important matters to attend to than this,” he told him. “Porthos and I will start making camp. D’Artagnan will assist us once he has seen to the horses. Please see to that which you need to as well.”

“I will not be a burden…”

“You are not, nor have you *ever* been a burden,” Athos told him sternly. “We all have things we do that support the whole of us. This is one of yours. Now go, but stay within sight of us.”

Aramis swallowed around the lump in his throat and nodded, unable to speak for a moment. He turned and headed for the tree line on the opposite side of their small camp. It was not very far away but it would give him some semblance of privacy for his devotions. Not that he minded if his brothers heard his prayers. There were many times when he had prayed in their presence. He knew he would do so again, but some of the prayers he offered up now… well, he had no wish to embarrass his brothers.

“Aramis alright?” D’Artagnan asked as he joined them in setting up their camp for the night. 

“Yes,” Athos smiled. 

“He really needs to start doing that here,” D’Artagnan said, frowning as he watched the man. 

“A man’s prayers are often a private matter,” Athos said.

“I understand that, and if we were at home I would not mind it. But we are not at home and I am not certain there is not some danger about. I would not have him off by himself for no good reason,” D’Artagnan explained.

“You do not feel his devotions are a good reason?” Porthos asked incredulously.

“I do not feel his need to do them out of our earshot is a good reason,” D’Artagnan clarified. “His devotions are important to him which makes them equally important to me but I would still have him closer.”

“I will voice your concern to him,” Athos said. “For I do not like him being separated from us either. But if he insists, I will not force the issue.”

“If he truly feels it is something he must do alone, without us near, then I will acquiesce,” D’Artagnan agreed as well. “I will not like it, but I will not push. Perhaps one day he will no longer feel such a need.”

Athos waited until Aramis had finished and was headed toward them before rising to intercept him. He wanted to speak with him away from the others, not wanting him to feel overly pressured. He understood D’Artagnan’s concerns and agreed with them wholeheartedly but he understood Aramis’ need for solitude as well.

“Is something wrong?” Aramis asked when Athos met him before he had made it half way back to them.

“No,” Athos told him. “But I would speak with you for a moment.”

“Alright,” Aramis agreed. 

“We understand that your devotions are a private matter,” Athos began choosing his words carefully. “But we do not like you being so removed from us. Especially when there may be danger about. Is there any way you could do them within the camp rather than on the outskirts of it? Please understand, we do not wish to interfere in this, but we would have you safely with us, especially when your concentration is elsewhere.”

“You… you worry for me being too far away?” Aramis asked, surprised.

“Yes,” Athos said bluntly. “D’Artagnan brought it up but his concerns were felt by all of us. If you truly feel you must have solitude for this then we will abide but if you could see any way…”

“Of course,” Aramis said at once. “I have no wish to make you worry. Yes, my devotions can be… personal, at times. But they are nothing I need hide from my brothers. I will make my prayers within the camp from now on.”

“Thank you, love,” Athos replied, relieved. 

“Perhaps then you will allow me to help with making camp,” Aramis joked.

“You are doing your part,” Athos told him again. “And we have no desire to change it. We would rather this then you take time from either our company or your rest for such things.”

“Very well,” Aramis conceded.

Ever since going to the Maison, D’Artagnan had become their unofficial cook. All of them were able to make simple fare on the trail, but their youngest took the duty upon himself even now. As he prepared their dinner, he felt someone sit next to him and glanced over to see that Aramis had joined him.

“I did not mean to worry you, love,” Aramis said. He had almost slipped and called him Master, something he had told himself he would not do when they were engaged on a mission. 

“I know,” D’Artagnan smiled, picking up on the slip and letting it pass. “And I thank you for indulging me. I know you would prefer your privacy for such things, and I do not mind granting that when I know we are safe, but out in the open like this…”

“You do not need to explain yourself,” Aramis told him. “That you worry for me and wish me closer is more than enough. I will never needlessly cause you to suffer in any way. I can make my devotions here, though do not blame me if you find a few of my prayers somewhat… embarrassing.”

“I will never be embarrassed by the fact that you pray for us,” D’Artagnan told him. “Do I not offer up my own prayers to God every night for you and the others?”

“You do? I… I was not aware…”

D’Artagnan only shrugged. It was true. He did offer a short prayer of protection for his lovers every night before letting sleep take him. On those few nights where he succumbed before he was able to, he offered the prayer the following morning. He may not have Aramis’ faith but he was not completely lacking in it. Not after everything they had been through. 

“If you ever wish to… that is…”

“I would consider it an honor to pray with you,” D’Artagnan told him. “But I am not so well versed as you, love. My prayers are simple things. More heart-felt pleas to God to protect those I cannot live without.”

“Those are often the best kind,” Aramis told him. 

Once dinner had been eaten, they sat around the fire talking of the day’s events. “I wonder if we are not going about this in the wrong way,” Aramis suggested.

“How so?” Athos asked.

“Well, the villagers obviously have no wish to speak with us. That much is clear. Asking further questions will only garner more suspicion and possibly alert whoever is behind this.”

“You are assuming something sinister is at hand,” Athos said.

“Must be,” Porthos put it. “Otherwise they’d talk to us. Tell us something.”

“They’re frightened,” D’Artagnan observed. “They don’t want to make whatever is going on worse by helping us.”

“So what do we do then?” Athos asked, looking for suggestions.

“Treville said there could be others, on outlying farms, that may have fallen victim as well. Perhaps they would be more willing to talk,” Aramis offered.

“Why would they tell us anything?” Porthos asked.

“Because they won’t have an entire village telling them to keep their mouths shut,” D’Artagnan said, seeing where Aramis was going with this. 

“And they may not feel they have much else to lose,” Aramis added grimly.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And once again, this took a bit of a header into left field on me.

Part 8

The first farm they came to, the family had only two sons. They did, however, know of a family not too far away that had claimed their daughter had gone missing. They gave the Musketeers directions as well as replenishing what supplies of theirs that they could then bid them safe travels. Finding someone at least willing to speak with them had helped to restore their faith a bit and they set off for the other farm with haste. 

They found it easily enough. The man sent his wife inside as they dismounted then stood waiting for them. It was clear that whatever he expected of them was not good. Unable to bear the pain in the man’s eyes and not respond to it, Aramis stepped forward and held up his hands. 

“My name is Aramis. I am one of the King’s Musketeers. We were told by another farmer that your daughter had gone missing,” he said carefully. 

“Have you found her?” he asked brokenly. “Is she…”

“No,” Aramis said quickly. “We have not found her. We were sent here to investigate the disappearances of young girls. Your daughter, she is among them?”

“Yes,” the man said. “Estelle… she is only thirteen. She disappeared two weeks ago. I rode into the village and tried to report it. They said… they said she must have run away. That she… that she met a boy and…”

“Easy,” Aramis said as he moved forward and put a reassuring hand on the man’s shoulder. “Take your time. I can only imagine how difficult this must be for you but any information you can give us would be of great help.”

The man nodded and did his best to regain his composure. “They said she had probably gotten pregnant and run off. She is only thirteen. She is a *child*. She does not even look at boys yet. She would not…”

“No, no,” Aramis soothed. “Of course she would not. That’s absurd. She… she is a good girl, isn’t she?”

“Yes!” the father exclaimed. “She goes to church every Sunday. She is… she is *devout*. Even if she did like a boy she would not have done such a thing. And she would never have run from us even if she had.”

“No, she would not have needed to,” Aramis agreed. “You would have been upset, but you would not have forsaken her and she would have known this. She would not have fled even if she feared disappointing you.”

“You see? You believe me?” 

“Yes,” Aramis told him. “I believe you. We believe you. And we are going to do everything within our power to find your daughter. But to do that, we need to ask you some questions. Do you think we could go inside and speak with you and your wife?”

The man looked toward the house then back at Aramis. “Alright,” he agreed albeit reluctantly. “But… be easy with her. My wife, she has not been the same since our Estelle disappeared. She is our only child, you see.”

“I understand,” Aramis told him. “We will ask only what we must.”

“Come then,” the father said and led them into the house. He found his wife sitting at their small table. She looked up when they entered, her face etched with fear. “These men are Musketeers. They have come about the missing girls. They… they have questions.”

“You will find my baby?” she asked desperately. “Please…”

“We will do everything in our power to find your daughter, Madame,” Aramis told her as gently as he could. “I give you my word. Do you think you could answer some questions for us? It might help us to know where to look.”

“Of course,” she said at once. “Anything, Monsieur. Anything to find my little girl.”

“Peace, Maman,” the man said. He went to his wife’s side and took her hand tightly in his own. 

“Can you tell us what your daughter looks like?” Aramis began. He questioned the couple slowly, careful not to overwhelm them. He made sure to speak of the girl only in the present, as if she were alive and well and would one day be reunited with them. He looked to Athos a couple of times but he merely shook his head, indicating for Aramis to continue. Once he felt they had learned all they could, he thanked the couple and they headed back outside.

“One moment,” the father said as they mounted their horses.

Aramis stopped and waited for him, knowing what the man was likely going to ask and unsure how best to answer him. He did not wish to give false hope but sometimes any hope was better than none. 

“Do you think she still lives?” the father asked bluntly once he was close enough that his voice would not carry back to the house and his wife. 

“I do not know,” Aramis told him. “But I shall pray that she is and we shall not stop looking until we find her or know what has become of her.”

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

“So what do you make of these new residents of the Lemieux Estate they mentioned?” Porthos asked as they headed down the road in the direction of the next village. 

“I am unsure,” Athos replied. “Locals are normally suspicious of outsiders. It could be no more than that.”

“What about the dwarf he mentioned?” D’Artagnan put in.

“What about him?” Aramis bristled. “Are we to judge people on how they were born now? Being different does not automatically make one evil.”

“I apologize,” D’Artagnan said at once. “I misspoke.”

“No, I apologize,” Aramis said somewhat embarrassed at his own outburst. “I have no right to speak to you in such a manner.”

“You have every right,” D’Artagnan told him. “I did not mean to imply that I thought him guilty, only that the father had mentioned him and that perhaps we should see if he knows anything. His… difference could actually be in our favor.”

“How so?” Porthos asked.

“People often overlook those deemed less fortunate,” D’Artagnan shrugged. “How many times have you seen people pass by beggars in the street as if they were not even there?”

“Boy has a point,” Porthos said, pleased that the young man had come to such an astute conclusion. 

“Even so, I think we would be wise to investigate the ritual sites the Captain told us of first,” Athos said. “Then we can report our findings to Treville and see what he knows of the new owners of the Lemieux Estate.”

“You do not think we should speak with them now?” Porthos asked.

“No,” Athos said regretfully. “Not without the Captain’s backing. I fear we must tread lightly here. Getting on the wrong side of the local nobility, however new to the area they might be, would not be in our favor.”

“Athos is probably correct, though the thought of riding back without questioning them simply because of their *standing* galls me,” Aramis said. “I do understand though, brother. I simply do not like it.”

“Then let us ride on,” D’Artagnan said. “The sooner we see what there is to see where these rituals have taken place the sooner we can return to the garrison and present our findings.”

According to Treville’s map, the ritual sites were spread out between the villages. They were far enough away to both ensure privacy and not to be easily stumbled upon. When they came upon the first one, they stopped just outside of its noticeable border. 

“Be easy, brother,” Porthos cautioned as Aramis dismounted and began to approach. 

The grass had been trampled flat all around the area in what appeared to be a crude circle. Dried blood still covered the ground and the bases of the trees. Some of the blood was splattered all the way up to shoulder-height, indicating either arterial spray or something of sufficiently high impact as to cause that degree of splatter.

“Stay back,” Aramis said when he heard one of the others approach. It sounded like Athos from the heaviness of the tread but he did not turn to look, trusting his brothers to heed his words. 

Moving cautiously, Aramis did his best to avoid stepping in any of the blood, even though it had long since dried. He crouched by a rather large stain of it and examined it as closely as he could without actually touching it. Grimacing, he reached into his belt pouch and pulled out a square of cloth. Taking his dagger in hand, he carefully cut away some of the blood-stained grass and transferred it to the cloth, making sure not to let any of it touch his hand. He even went so far as to set his dagger aside on the grass rather than sheath it. When he was done, he tucked the cloth away and stood up, retrieving his dagger and rejoining the others.

“What are you doing?” Porthos asked as Aramis rummaged in his saddlebags before pulling out a small, stoppered vial.

“Not taking chances,” Aramis replied as he poured some of the liquid over the blade of his dagger, rinsing any traces of blood and grass from it. Once he was satisfied that the blade was clean, he sheathed it and stoppered the vial then placed it back inside his saddlebags. 

His companions watched him silently, unsure what to say, if anything. While they were glad that Aramis was being cautious, the fact that he was being *this* cautious spooked them all a bit. Once they were under way again, Athos finally voiced what he knew they were all thinking. “Was that truly necessary, brother?”

“I do not know,” Aramis replied as they rode, “but…”

“But…” They held up then, wanting to be able to speak between them.

“But I know I felt something back there,” Aramis admitted. “It was not as strong as at the ruins. Nothing as… definitive as that. Perhaps it was nothing more than my own fears, but I have learned not to take chances. I will not put you all at risk when a few moments of caution would see it mitigated.”

“Very well,” Athos said. “We do not mean to question you. We trust your judgment in this and we shall be cautious, but as you would not risk us know that we would not risk you either.”

“I know,” Aramis said, smiling softly at him. “I will not put myself in harm’s way without good cause. I would not do that to any of you. I know my actions must make me seem as though I am afraid of my own shadow. I am no coward…”

“Oi!” Porthos shouted. “Think we don’t know that? Taking care doesn’t make you a coward, brother.”

“Many would see my hesitation as just that,” Aramis pointed out.

“Then they are fools,” D’Artagnan told him. “As I said before, you are no coward. You are merely a man who understands all he has to lose and seeks only to protect it. If that means you move more warily than you did before, then so be it.”

“We are not so different than you, brother,” Athos told him as he reached out and clasped Aramis’ arm. He wanted nothing more than to pull the other man close and hold him but he did not. They had work to do and the open road was no place for such displays. “We are all of us keenly aware of both the evil that exists in this world and the damage it can wreak. If moving slowly, if being cautious, will keep my brothers safe from harm then I will do so no matter how much I might want to simply rush in.”

“Thank you,” Aramis said, feeling something inside of him ease at Athos’ words. He covered his brother’s hand with his own and squeezed once then released him. “Let us head for the next site. I would like to examine it as well before we turn our horses back toward home.”

It took a bit of searching to locate the next one. When they did finally get near it, they knew they had found what they were looking for. Like the previous one, the grass had all been flattened in a rough circle. This one, though, was much larger. Aramis bid his brothers stay back once more as he went to investigate. 

This time, Athos grabbed his arm, stopping him. “Not alone,” he said. “Not this time. Porthos and D’Artagnan can keep watch from a distance but you will not venture inside without me.”

“Athos…”

“No, Aramis,” Athos said, shaking his head. “I know there is danger and I know that I do not feel it as you do, but do not ask me to simply stand by and watch you walk in there with no one to guard your back.”

“Athos is right,” Porthos said as he and D’Artagnan dismounted. “The boy and I will stay outside the perimeter, but Athos goes in with you.”

“Very well,” Aramis relented, knowing it would be useless to argue. “But you touch nothing unless I say you may do so and that includes me.”

“As long as you are in no danger, I will abide,” Athos told him, making it clear that should Aramis suddenly find himself in peril, Athos would do whatever he felt necessary to protect him, Aramis’ cautions be damned.

“You are entirely too stubborn for your own good,” Aramis groused as he stepped over the border where the grass became flat. 

“Pot, kettle,” D’Artagnan muttered to Porthos, pitching his voice just loud enough for Aramis to hear. The stiffening of the man’s shoulders let them know that he had.

“Step over the border,” Aramis instructed, ignoring the other two. “Do not break the continuity of the circle.”

Athos did as he was told, careful to follow Aramis’ example to not let his steps come anywhere near any of the numerous splashes of dried blood. It was much harder here as there appeared to be at least twice the amount of blood splattered about. And it went much high up the trees, as well, hitting over ten feet in some places.

“Do you wish more samples?” Athos asked. He did not know what Aramis wanted the samples for but if he thought them important then he would help him gather them.

“Yes,” Aramis replied, “but let me do the actual gathering. You can secure them for me but make sure not to let them touch your skin or even your gloves. If they do, tell me at once.”

“I will,” Athos promised. “But… it is just dried blood, is it not?”

“Probably,” Aramis replied. “But there is power in blood. And I am not positive that blood is all that this is. As I said, I am being cautious. Overly so, I know.”

“Do as you feel you need,” Athos told him. “If it turns out to be nothing but blood then we wasted a few minutes, nothing more. If it turns out to be something… other, well…”

Aramis nodded his thanks, grateful beyond measure that Athos not only understood his worries but believed in him enough to allow him such latitude. He knew others would not be so generous. They would see his worry, his fear, as irrational… as a sign he was not fit to return to his duties as a Musketeer. He only hoped that the Captain did not end up seeing them as such.

Silently, Aramis examined the bloodstains on the ground. He took samples again, handing them to Athos for safekeeping. He examined the trees more carefully this time as well, even taking a sample from one of them. When he had taken in all that he felt he could, he headed back toward the others. 

As soon as he stepped back over the trampled border, Aramis felt immediately lighter. He knew that was probably just his own relief at being away from such a vile place but he made note of it regardless. Taking the samples from Athos, he stowed them the others then cleaned his blade as he had before. He also double checked Athos’ hands for any traces of grass or blood. Satisfied that they had remained untouched, he placed a hasty kiss to the knuckles then released them. 

“Tell me, brothers,” he began before Athos could berate him for such a public display, “what do you notice?”

“Nothing,” D’Artagnan said after glancing about for a moment.

“Exactly,” Aramis remarked as they mounted their horses. “I do not hear a single bird and have not since we drew near to this wretched place. Did either of you see any sign of life while we here?”

“No,” Porthos replied, feeling a chill run down his spine. “Not so much as a squirrel.”

With their horses pointed back toward Paris they rode until the sun hung low in the sky, wanting as much distance as possible between them and blood splattered site. When they finally stopped, they moved as far off the road as they could, opting to remain as unseen as possible. Aramis did as he had been asked and made himself comfortable at the edge of their campsite, out of the way of the others but still clearly at hand, as he went about his nightly devotions. He made his prayers in Latin, knowing his brothers would only be able to recognize a few words, and their names, of course.

Once they had the camp set up, D’Artagnan began preparing their dinner. He kept an eye on Aramis as he did. He knew Athos and Porthos were doing the same and was glad. He did not mind Aramis’ devotions, he only disliked the fact that it pulled the man’s focus inward and away from his surroundings. D’Artagnan supposed that was what he had brothers for and vowed to maintain his diligence so that his brother did not have to worry.

“You have something on your mind,” Porthos said to Athos as they sat on the other side of the fire, splitting their attention between watching D’Artagnan cook and Aramis pray.

“Hmm, yes,” Athos replied, noncommittally. 

“Tell me, brother,” Porthos encouraged. 

“I would speak with Aramis about his… resurgence of faith,” Athos said.

“It troubles you?” Porthos asked.

“Only in so much that it has the power to take him from us,” Athos said softly, wanting neither D’Artagnan nor Aramis to overhear him. 

“You cannot be serious?” Porthos replied, stunned.

“You think I am concerned for nothing?”

“Yes,” Porthos said more loudly than he intended. He saw D’Artagnan glance at them and shook his head, letting the boy know that all was well. He looked at Aramis and saw that he did not appear to have moved so turned his attention back to Athos. “He would never abandon us, Athos. Surely you know this.”

“I do not believe he would abandon us,” Athos agreed. “But…”

“But what?”

“But if he chose to renew his vows to the church, he might feel the need to take certain other vows as well.”

“You think he would forsake us as lovers,” Porthos said bluntly. 

“I think the possibility exists,” Athos agreed reluctantly. 

“Then what do we do about it?” Porthos asked.

“Nothing,” Athos replied. “The decision is Aramis’. We shall support it as we would any other. If he decides to dedicate himself to the church… if he decides that we can only ever be brothers… then we shall accept it and be thankful for the privilege.”

“You would not fight for him?”

“Not this. Not his God. It is a fight we would lose and, in doing so, we would lose him altogether,” Athos explained. “Better to take him on whatever grounds he wishes than that.”

“So we just sit here and what… hope?” Porthos asked, his voice tinged with a desperation that tore at Athos.

“Not quite,” Athos said. “I will speak with him and make my concerns known. At least then we might have some idea if they are valid or if I am simply reading too much into the situation.”

“Alright,” Porthos agreed. “Do you think we should tell the Whelp?”

“No,” Athos said at once. “I do not believe D’Artagnan would take such a possibility well. If it looks like there is truly a danger of it coming to pass then we can talk with him but for now let us keep this between ourselves.”

Once Aramis had finished his devotions he moved toward D’Artagnan intent on joining him. Athos, however, intercepted him. “A word?” he asked.

Aramis gave a quick nod in reply and followed the other man back toward where the horses were tethered. He did not miss the frown D’Artagnan gave them as they walked away. Clearly the Whelp had no idea what this was about either.

“Is something wrong?” Aramis asked once they were out of earshot of the others.

“Not as such,” Athos replied. “I would speak with you of something and know your thoughts on it.”

“And this is not something that the others should hear?”

“Not yet,” Athos told him. “Hopefully, not at all but that remains to be seen.”

“What is it, Athos?” Aramis asked, suddenly afraid.

“Your devotion to the church has grown much of late,” Athos began seemingly out of the blue. 

“Yes,” Aramis replied slowly, frowning as he did so. He did not understand what his renewed faith had to do with anything.

Not knowing what else to do other than simply ask, Athos looked Aramis in the eyes and steeled himself. “And do you once again feel its call?”

“Feel its call?” Aramis repeated. “I do not… You… Athos, what are you asking me?”

“I am asking you, Aramis, if the rekindling of your faith has brought with it a renewed desire to serve the church,” Athos said, putting it as plainly as he could. 

“Athos…” Aramis began only to trail off, unsure what to say.

“Did not the Captain himself refer to you as a priest or as close as made no difference?” Athos pointed out.

“Yes, he did,” Aramis agreed. “But that does not mean I am going to suddenly… suddenly renounce my life and run off to join the church. In case you have forgotten, they tend to frown on sodomites within their ranks.”

“But they do not frown on redemption,” Athos said softly. “Nor do they turn away those who would abandon such worldly pleasures for the service of their God.”

“You think… you think I… that I would leave… that I could…” Aramis stammered, unable to even fathom what Athos was suggesting. The thought of leaving his brothers, his lovers, the life they had built, was a physical pain. Even the thought of dedicating himself to the service of God was not enough to make him *consider* being parted from these men.

“Aramis… Aramis, calm down,” Athos said sternly as he grabbed him by the arm and shook him hard. “I know you would not leave us. You would never do such a thing. But…”

“But what?” Aramis all but snarled at him, jerking his arm from Athos’ grip.

“But you do not have to leave us to take your vows and keep them,” Athos said. “We will always be your brothers, that will never change… no matter what else might.”

Aramis opened his mouth, ready to tear into Athos for even suggesting such a thing, then he saw the abject misery in his brother’s eyes before he could shutter it away and he understood. Athos was afraid. He was afraid that Aramis might actually choose the church over them. And Athos – wonderful, honorable Athos – would not fight God for him. Nor would he allow his brothers to. If Aramis really did want to go back to the church, want to take vows that would no longer allow him to be their lover, then Athos would let him and he would make sure the others did as well. 

“Oh, love,” Aramis said as he closed his eyes and pulled a stunned Athos into his arms. “Yes, my faith had been rekindled as you said. But I have no desire to return to the church. God does not need another priest. He needs me here, where I can do some good. I will not leave you. I will not forsake you. I will not… I will not choose… choose God over you. Please, of all the things to fear, *this* should not be one.”

“I do not wish to lose you,” Athos whispered, his face buried into the side of Aramis’ neck. He had been so scared that the relief coursing through him now was enough to make him light-headed. 

“You will not,” Aramis told him. “Not like that at any rate. Not to the church. God would never ask me to make such a sacrifice. Do you know how I know that? How I can say that with all confidence?”

“How?” Athos asked.

“Because your love, and that of Porthos and D’Artagnan, is what has allowed me to find my faith again,” Aramis explained. “Without that, I would be hollow. There would be no soul left inside of me. And God has no use for a soulless creature.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rather short part this go round. But I am between jobs for the next week so I hope to make some significant headway. :)

Part 9

When they returned to the camp, it was to the watchful eyes of both Porthos and D’Artagnan. Aramis merely smiled at them and shook his head, letting them know that there was nothing to worry over. He was not sure if Athos had spoken to both of them about his concerns but it was clear that they knew something was amiss and were ready to lend their support should it be needed.

“So, what do you make of all this?” Porthos asked once they had eaten and were sitting round the fire. 

“I am not sure,” Aramis said. 

“You said you felt something at the ritual sites,” D’Artagnan prompted, worried about just how much Aramis might have picked up on. While he did not want the man jumping at shadows, he did not want him dismissing his intuition either.

“I did,” Aramis nodded. “Not anything as strong as… as before. But there was something… a sense of… wrongness. Did you notice anything, Athos?”

“I am sorry, brother, my attention was wholly focused on you,” Athos replied. “Though even if it had not been, I doubt I would have noticed anything other than the obvious.”

“What did you take the bits of grass for?” Porthos asked suddenly. It had been bothering him since the first site. He did not understand why Aramis would want such a thing, especially if he felt such strong precautions were necessary in their procurement.

“I want to examine them more closely but I cannot do so here,” Aramis said. “For one, I do not have the items that I need. For another, I do not feel it would be safe to do so. Not for myself or the rest of you.”

“I am unsure if I like the thought of you experimenting with such things,” Athos said. “But I will not stop you. Just… do not undertake such things alone. Have one of us with you. I do not care which of us it is, even Treville, just not alone.”

“I will do as you say in this,” Aramis assured him. “I… I have no desire to take undue chances, with myself or anyone else. I would not leave my brothers for anything. I shall not risk myself unnecessarily.”

“A modicum of caution is all we ask,” Athos replied, greatly relieved that Aramis had agreed. He had thought the man might fight him, insisting that he conduct whatever research alone to lessen the danger to anyone else. He was glad he had not had to fight him on it.

“You shall have it and more,” Aramis vowed.

“May I ask you something?” D’Artagnan ventured hesitantly. He was unsure if he should bring this up here but it was nagging at him. If Aramis did not wish to discuss it, he would let it go but he hoped his lover would not mind the intrusive questions.

“Anything,” Aramis told him indulgently. “You do not have to ask permission for such, D’Artagnan. There is nothing I would keep from you. Not purposely.”

“Why the sudden need now to pray each night?” he asked boldly, not knowing how else to do so and get his true question across.

“I have always prayed, D’Artagnan,” Aramis said, smiling softly at the young man. “I just did not always do so for so long or allow my brothers to become so aware of it.”

“So why the change?” D’Artagnan asked, wanting simply to understand.

“Whelp…” Porthos rumbled warningly. He had always been protective of Aramis’ and his faith, refusing to allow anyone to question the man over it.

“Peace, Porthos,” Aramis said. “He seeks to understand, not to judge.”

“Of course not,” D’Artagnan said at once. “I would never. I simply… I would be there for you if you have need of me, but I cannot be of help if I do not know what drives this.”

“I am not sure this is something you can help me with, love,” Aramis told him. “But I thank you all the same for wanting to. As for the change, I think it is more a matter of wanting to be sufficiently prepared. If our mission had been something of a more… mundane nature, I do not believe I would feel this need quite so fervently.”

“That makes sense,” D’Artagnan said. “But if this is something you need to do, or simply something you want to do, then we shall make the time for it. You do not have to have a reason for it. That you desire it is more than enough for all of us.”

As the night wore on, Aramis found himself being more and more cosseted by his brothers. At no time did they let him out from between them. When one would need to move off for some reason, another would immediately take his place.

“This is hardly necessary,” Aramis said, amusement coloring his words.

“You let us be the judge of what’s necessary where you are concerned,” Porthos told him. “In case you have not noticed, the Whelp practically starts vibrating with tension whenever you are out of arm’s reach of him.”

“Hmm…” Aramis mused. “I had noticed that he seemed especially… tense… tonight.”

“He worries for you,” Athos said as he moved in close to Aramis’ side, effectively pinning him between him and Porthos. D’Artagnan was currently checking that the horses were secure for the night. Athos had not yet set the watch and thought about assigning the Whelp to the first one to get it out of the way so that the boy might spend the rest of the night with Aramis. He already knew that the three of them would split the watch between them. For whatever reason, none of them seemed to want Aramis out of easy reach and that definitely included sitting watch.

When D’Artagnan returned to the campfire, he paused at the sight of Aramis pressed snuggly between Athos and Porthos. If he did not know better, he would assume that the men had more than mere sleeping in mind for the night. Of course, thinking about it, he realized there was no reason why they should not.

“I shall take first watch,” he said before Athos could speak. “The three of you may… do as you would. I will ensure you are not disturbed.”

“Whelp?” Athos called when D’Artagnan made to turn away.

“All is well, brother,” D’Artagnan told him, smiling softly at him. “I do not begrudge you this. Take good care of him… and each other.” With that, D’Artagnan grabbed his weapons and moved off to a place where he could keep an eye on the camp as well as spot anyone trying to approach it while still giving his brothers what privacy he could.

“He is a good man,” Aramis said.

“Yes,” Porthos agreed. “Though if he does not stop trying to shepherd us at every turn…”

“You cannot fault him for loving us,” Aramis admonished gently. “For that is all it is. He loves us and would see us happy. If that means sitting watch while we are… together, then that is what he will do because that is what makes *him* happy.”

“Enough about D’Artagnan for now,” Athos said. “We can discuss his shepherding tendencies later. Right now, I would much rather see how quickly we can reduce you to incoherent begging with naught but our hands and mouths.”

“I… I did not think… we were doing this,” Aramis gasped as Athos leaned in and began kissing and sucking along his neck. Porthos quickly joined him and began placing his own biting kisses on the other side making Aramis groan loudly.

The two men pressed him between them, using their bodies to hold him in place as they ravaged his neck. They were careful not to leave any marks that would show above the collar of his leathers and soon tugged his doublet completely off so that they could more easily access his neck and shoulders.

“What did I tell you?” Athos panted into his ear as he bit down on the livid bruise that marred the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

“Wh-wh-what?” Aramis gasped, unable to think let alone answer coherently.

“What did I tell you I was going to do?” Athos repeated. He waited a moment and when Aramis failed to reply he bit down again, drawing a harsh shout from the man. “Did I not tell you I would make you spend from nothing more than my mouth right here?”

“Brother,” Porthos groaned, hearing Athos’ words and feeling them ignite a fire inside of him. “You know what that spot does to him.”

“Oh yes,” Athos said, letting his breath ghost over the fresh mark he had sucked into Aramis’ flesh. “Don’t you want to see if I can do it? Don’t you want to watch while I make him spend from this alone?”

“More than words can say,” Porthos told him. “But I think that sight would best be saved for when all of us can be together. Unless you plan for me to ravage him completely when you are done.”

“Tempting,” Athos mused, making Aramis moan and shake between them. To hear them discussing him in such a way, as if he were not even there, or had no say in the proceedings was making him harder than he thought possible. When coupled with what Athos was doing to his neck, he was in real danger of spilling inside his breeches in an embarrassingly short amount of time.

“But perhaps we should save that for another time as well,” Athos said. He took in Aramis’ lust-filled eyes and realized that there was nothing the man would deny them right now, no matter how ill thought out it might be. “For now, take him out of his breeches. I want to watch him spend and a night in soiled clothes will not be comfortable for him.”

Porthos wasted no time after that. He quickly unlaced Aramis’ breeches and pulled his straining erection out. Aramis gasped and clung to him, the cool night air like a slap against his heated flesh. Porthos eased him as best he could, running his hand soothingly up and down his side as Athos began to assault his neck once more. At a nod from Athos, Porthos wrapped his hand firmly around Aramis’ erection and began to stroke.

As wound up as they had him, it did not take long. A few pulls of Porthos’ strong hand along with Athos’ continued ministrations on his neck and shoulder and Aramis was crying out and spilling between them. They held him tightly as he shuddered and keened through it, the pleasure spiraling all through him. When he was finally spent, he collapsed bonelessly between them, panting and flushed, his eyes almost dazed from the intensity.

Porthos wiped his hand on the grass then did his best to clean Aramis up. He had been mindful of the travel they still had ahead of them and had done his best to keep the man from spending all over himself. Once he had him cleaned up, he and Athos maneuvered him until he was lying down between them. 

“What about you two?” Aramis asked tiredly as his lovers lay pressed in close to him.

“We will keep,” Athos said, casting a quick glance to Porthos and getting a silent nod in return.

“That was for you,” Porthos added. 

“Now get some sleep. We ride at first light,” Athos told him.

“Wake me for watch,”Aramis mumbled, his body already dropping down to sleep.

Athos and Porthos merely looked at one another again, having no intention of waking him. Not this night. While the mission had not yet proven strenuous, Aramis still bore the brunt of the emotional impact. It would not do the three of them any harm to split the watch between themselves this night.


	10. Chapter 10

Part 10

D’Artagnan considered simply taking the watches himself for the night unless one of his brothers awoke on his own. He knew, however, that Athos would be furious with him if he did so without his permission so he woke his brother when the time came and took his place next to Aramis as quietly as he could.

Aramis felt the shift of bodies around him and knew that Athos and D’Artagnan were changing places. He was glad. He had missed their youngest and worried about how tense he had been all night. When he felt D’Artagnan press himself along his back, he knew his worries were justified for the young man was nearly thrumming with tension. Reaching back, Aramis places his hand on D’Artagnan’s hip and pulled him in even tighter, letting him know that he was both awake and aware of him.

“I’m sorry,” D’Artagnan whispered as he tried to pull back. “I did not mean to wake you. Perhaps I should sleep elsewhere for the night.”

“No,” Aramis said at once. The urgency in his reply was enough to rouse Porthos as well and he looked at Aramis then over his shoulder at D’Artagnan.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, frowning worriedly.

“Nothing,” D’Artagnan said, his body going even more tense somehow. “I did not mean to wake him. Or you. I am sorry.”

“Don’t care about that,” Porthos told him. “What’s wrong with you, though? You’ve been tense as a bowstring all evening.”

“I am not sure,” D’Artagnan admitted. “I feel…”

“D’Artagnan,” Aramis prompted when the younger man grew silent. 

“’Tis nothing, Aramis,” D’Artagnan told him tiredly. “Sleep now. We have a long ride ahead of us tomorrow.”

Aramis paused for a moment then glanced at Porthos. He saw the understanding in his eyes and the man’s brief nod reassured him. “Master,” Aramis implored softly.

D’Artagnan seemed to freeze, even his breath stopping. He gripped Aramis tightly and buried his face in his shoulder. “Little One, please,” he pleaded. “Not here. Porthos…”

“It’s alright, lad,” Porthos told him as he reached out and gripped him by the arm. “Whatever you need, yeah? You need your boy? Is that what’s been wrong?”

“Not… not that. Not really. Just…”

“I am here, Master,” Aramis said. He wanted desperately to turn around and face D’Artagnan. He wanted to be able to see his eyes, to gauge his expression, to hold and shelter him, but he did not. His Master had not directed him to do that and he had a feeling that what D’Artagnan might need most right now was his obedience. 

“I love you so much,” D’Artagnan said, moving his mouth up so that his lips ghosted over Aramis’ ear. “I cannot help but worry for you in all of this. Please, promise me you will take care. No risks, at least none without us there by your side.”

“I promise,” Aramis said at once, believing he finally understood what had made their youngest so tense. “I will not risk harming my family and allowing harm to befall myself would do just that. You have my word, Master. I swear it.”

“Thank you,” D’Artagnan whispered then kissed Aramis on the neck. “In the morning… would you show me?”

“Show you?” Aramis asked, confused as to what he was referring to.

“Their marks upon you,” D’Artagnan clarified. “I would see how they have marked you, if you do not mind.”

“I… I do not mind,” Aramis replied. “You do not mind that they…”

“Never,” D’Artagnan told him. “I will never see the marks they put upon you as anything but beautiful.”

“Master…”

“Shhh… sleep now, Little One. I am here and I have you.”

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

They arrived back at the garrison late the next afternoon. While Athos went to report their findings to Treville, the other three took care of their horses and gathered their saddle bags then waited for him at their accustomed table at the foot of the stairs. 

D’Artagnan had continued to be tense, even after spending the remainder of the night wrapped around Aramis. He could not seem to shake the sense of foreboding that plagued him. He did not want to speak of it to the others, not wanting to worry them uselessly. He would keep a weather eye on things, though, and alert his brothers at the first sign of possible trouble.

Athos reported their findings to the Captain and waited. He had made it clear that they wanted to question the new inhabitants of the Lemieux Estate, renamed Chateau de Bathory according to the Captain. Athos also told him of Aramis’ misgivings and that he wanted to do some experiments on the samples he had collected. Athos kept his own misgivings about that to himself, not wanting to add to Treville’s worry about Aramis’ readiness to return to duty. 

“What sort of experiments?” Treville asked, suddenly concerned.

“I do not know,” Athos replied. “He only said that he could not do them on the road as he did not have the supplies he needed and there was some element of… risk involved. I bade him not to undertake them alone and he has agreed. If you have no objection, I would prefer he do them here rather than at Madame Bonacieux’s residence.”

“Of course, man,” Treville told him sharply. “In fact, I insist. I would not have him doing anything… dangerous there. We can set up a room for him here away from the rest of the compound if he requires it.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Athos said. “If you do not object, we would spend the night at home then restock and be back on our way again in the morning. I would very much like to question the residents of Chateau de Bathory.”

“You suspect their involvement?” Treville asked. It was always tricky when aristocrats were involved. It was hard to tell just how far their reach extended and he had no desire to see his men add to their list of enemies.

“Only in that they are new and have both the station and wealth to influence the local villagers,” Athos replied. “It could very well be a lone servant and the owners of the estate are completely unaware.”

“But you do not think so,” Treville said, seeing the truth in the man’s eyes.

“No,” Athos replied. “There was too much blood, too much disturbance at the scenes for it to be the work of one man, though it could still be a small group of servants acting independently of their employers.”

“Very well. I will back you up on this, but tread lightly, Athos. You, more so than the rest, understand how the aristocracy works. Gentry do not take kindly to being questioned, especially by lowly Musketeers.”

“We will take care, Sir. I dare say we all realize that caution is called for here, whether we like it or not.”

“Excellent. And if you wish to take more than a night at home, I understand,” Treville told him.

“I will mention it to the others, though I doubt Aramis will be willing to wait. He is… anxious to find the girls or at least determine what has become of them for the families’ sakes if nothing else.”

“Yes, he would. How is he holding up?”

“Well,” Athos said, hesitating then deciding to trust their Captain. “He feels these things much more keenly than the rest of us. He is being cautious. Perhaps overly so, but I would rather that than the opposite.”

“Agreed. Well, if he wants to do whatever experiments he has in mind, you may have to delay your departure for at least a day. Discuss it amongst you and decide. I shall leave the handling of this to you. Just let me know what we need to set up here for him and let me know when you plan to depart.”

With that, Athos thanked him again and left, heading down the stairs to join his companions. “We have the Captain’s backing to question the residents of the Chateau,” he told them as they gathered their things and headed towards home.

“Chateau?” D’Artagnan asked.

“The Lemieux Estate has been renamed to the Chateau de Bathory,” Athos explained. “Also, the Captain would prefer you do whatever experimentation you have planned at the garrison. He will set aside a room for you, as removed as you feel the need.”

“Ah, thank you,” Aramis said. “I was not sure where I was going to do them at. I did not want to do them at home… not with Constance there.”

“No,” Athos agreed. “The Captain was rather insistent about that.”

“I see,” Aramis chuckled.

“Remember the stables,” Porthos warned, referring to the Captain’s threat from the last time Aramis had teased him about Constance.

“He said we can delay our departure if we feel the need,” Athos said, bringing the conversation back around to the mission. “So if you want to do whatever it is you have planned, you can see to it before we head back.”

“I would like that, yes,” Aramis said. “It should not take overly long. Less than a day, surely, even with outfitting a space to work in.”

“Excellent,” Porthos said. “A day or two at home before we head back out will be nice.”

“Agreed,” D’Artagnan added, though his reason for being happy for the delay was very different from his brother’s. Having an entire day back home would give him time to go hunting once more. Perhaps this time he could find a name to go with the man’s face. All he would have to do then would be to somehow confirm whether or not he had the right person. And once that was done…

He did not know why he suddenly felt such an overwhelming urge to make those who had hurt Aramis pay for what they had done. He knew it was irrational for his anger to intensify like this. He thought it might have something to do with their mission, with seeing Aramis once again putting himself at risk for the sake of others and knowing that there were those out there that had hurt him so badly and gotten away with it.

He also found himself wondering of late just what might happen if Athos found out. He was not overly worried about Porthos, other than that he might tell Athos. Porthos, he knew, would want the bloodiest of revenges for what they had done to his brother. It was Athos that was the unknown. He took his position as a Musketeer very seriously. And vigilante justice, especially vigilante executions, went against everything he stood for.

“You are pensive,” Athos said softly, pitching his voice so that only D’Artagnan could hear. He had watched the younger man and had seen him growing more and more lost within his own thoughts. Had it been Aramis, he would have thought nothing of it, but D’Artagnan was not given to such contemplativeness. 

“It is nothing,” D’Artagnan said, surprised that Athos had noticed.

“I am here for you if you wish to talk,” Athos told him, wishing once again that he was free to simply reach out and comfort his lovers as he wished to. That, however, would have to wait until they were safely behind closed doors once again.

“Thank you,” D’Artagnan said. “I… I would like to talk… later.”

“When we get home then,” Athos said. “I am sure Porthos and Aramis can keep themselves out of trouble for a bit.”

“Constance will keep an eye on them,” D’Artagnan grinned.

“Hmm, yes. She can be quite formidable when challenged,” he mused.

“I think this is a story I need to hear,” D’Artagnan replied.

“Only that she threatened to take a strap to *me* if I did not behave,” Athos said blithely, grinning to himself when D’Artagnan nearly tripped over his own feet at his words.

“You are evil,” D’Artagnan hissed and Athos huffed out a laugh.

“Dare we ask?” Aramis commented behind them.

“Nah,” Porthos replied. “Whatever it is, we probably don’t want to know.”

To say Constance was pleased to see them back was a bit of an understatement. She had not been expecting them so soon and quickly ushered them inside so that she could hug them all without the neighbors getting too much of an eyeful.

“I take it you missed us then,” Aramis teased as he spun her around. He appeared as happy to see her as she was him and it made the others smile indulgently at the pair.

Once the initial excitement had calmed, Aramis and Porthos went to wash up, leaving Athos and D’Artagnan alone. “Shall we?” Athos asked, gesturing toward the sitting room where they might have some privacy. “Unless you would prefer to go upstairs so we will not be disturbed.”

“No, this is fine,” D’Artagnan told him and preceded him into the room. He stripped out of his doublet and laid it across the back of the sofa then sat down and waited for Athos to do the same and join him. 

“Tell me what is on your mind,” Athos said once he was sitting next to him.

“It really is nothing,” D’Artagnan said, unsure now how to begin. “More of an idle thought that refuses to leave my mind than anything.”

“So tell me and let me put your mind at ease.”

“Alright,” D’Artagnan agreed. He glanced toward the door, making sure none of the others were near. He did not really want them overhearing this. He was not even sure he wanted to have this conversation with Athos. “I just wondered… do you think there would ever be anything one of us could do that you could not forgive? Could not… reconcile?”

Athos looked at the younger man hard, his brow creased in worry. This was not at all what he had expected. He gave the lad’s words thought, though before answering. “No,” he said. “I am fairly certain I have already proven as much.”

“But those were events not of our control, our doing,” D’Artagnan argued, knowing Athos was referring to what happened at the ruins. “What if one of us did something… something *intentional* that you could not, in all good faith, condone?”

“In all honesty, D’Artagnan, I cannot say,” Athos told him bluntly. “But I cannot ever see a time or circumstance that would make me forsake any one of you. Now what is this about?”

“Nothing,” D’Artagnan told him. “As I said, it was merely a thought that refused to leave my head. Think no more of it, brother. I think I shall go and wash up now. Thank you for taking the time to ease my mind in this.”

Athos said nothing as he watched D’Artagnan leave the room. He knew there was more to it than the boy was letting on and that worried him. He knew their youngest to be both rash and overprotective on a good day and he was left wondering what he might be thinking of. He knew the lad considered their talk a private one and he would not break that trust. He would, however, speak with Porthos and engage his help in keeping an eye on the boy lest he find himself in over his head.

After a dinner spent laughing and talking about everything except their current mission, they all retired to the sitting room. When Constance made to take the chair again, Aramis slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her over to the sofa with him, depositing her on his lap with a laugh.

“There is a perfectly good chair right over there,” she protested weakly, rather enjoying the closeness.

“Ah, but I have a perfectly good lap right here,” Aramis countered, smiling wickedly.

“You are incorrigible,” she grinned. “I do not know how the others put up with you.”

“It can be quite vexing at times,” Athos teased, laughing aloud when Aramis pouted at him. He watched as Constance leaned back against Aramis, relaxing into his embrace, her hand coming up to gently card through his hair. He had never seen them be quite this physical with each other before and it gave him pause. 

A quick glance toward D’Artagnan showed nothing but fond amusement on his face, as if he were merely indulging overly enthusiastic siblings. A look at Porthos, however, showed quite a different expression. Catching his eyes, Athos quirked an eyebrow in silent question and Porthos gave a miniscule shrug in response, meaning he did not know what to make of it but they could talk about it later.

“Will you be heading back out again at first light?” Constance asked, not really wanting to hear the answer but needing to know.

“Not right away,” Aramis told her. “We have a few things to take care of here first. It should probably take no more than a day but you shall have us here for at least the one.”

“Good,” Constance replied. “I know you have work to do but I do prefer it when you are here where I can see that you are safe and whole.”

“We prefer to be here as well,” Athos told her. “Where we can see that you are safe and whole.”

“You need not worry for me,” she laughed.

“We always worry about our family, love,” Porthos said. “Especially when one of them is out of our sights.”

When they headed upstairs for the night, Aramis paused outside their bedroom door. “Ah, would either of you mind if D’Artagnan and I took the other room tonight?” he asked. He remembered how tense the younger man had been and wanted some time alone with him to try to soothe his worries if he could.

“No, you two go ahead,” Athos told him. He had been expecting as much and was glad that Aramis had suggested it rather than D’Artagnan having to ask as he was not at all sure the boy would have. “But you may want to grab some clothes from the main room first.”

Nodding his agreement, Aramis opened the door to their bedroom and walked in. He did not realize what he was seeing at first, then he remembered just what state the room had been in when they had left. “She cleaned the room,” he said, blushing hotly at the thought.

“And did the washing looks like,” Porthos added, causing Aramis to blush even more. 

“Well, this is embarrassing,” Athos muttered, turning a bit pink at the thought of Constance cleaning up after them, especially in this regard.

“She has been married, brothers,” D’Artagnan said, the least fazed of the group. “I doubt the state of our rooms will be the thing that shocks her.”

“I will never be able to look her in the face without blushing again,” Athos sighed. 

“Strength, brother,” Porthos said with a chuckle. He was just as embarrassed as the others but if Constance was not bothered by it then he was not going to let it bother him. He did wince, however, when he remembered the state he and D’Artagnan had left the other room in and made a note to do something really nice for Constance before they left again.

“So, what do you think about Aramis and Constance?” Porthos asked once he and Athos were alone.

“In what regard?” Athos asked, though he was fairly certain he knew what Porthos was referring to.

“The way they were acting,” Porthos said bluntly. “I mean, it’d be one thing for her to be all over the Whelp like that considering their history and such, but Aramis…”

“I believe he sees her as a sister,” Athos said, hoping to ease Porthos’ mind.

“Yeah, and he saw us as *brothers* not that long ago,” Porthos contended. 

“What is it that worries you so?” Athos asked him. He could tell that Porthos was genuinely bothered by something but he did not think it was merely the idea of Aramis with someone other than the three of them. Especially not someone as close to them all as Constance was.

“I just don’t want there to be any hard feelings if something were to happen,” Porthos hedged.

“You are speaking of D’Artagnan, I take it?”

“Yeah. Boy’s been in love with her forever. He walked away from her for us. To see Aramis with her…”

“I do not think he intends to bed her,” Athos said. “Nor her him. But it is not outside the realm of possibilities. However, from what I have seen of D’Artagnan’s reactions to them both, I do not think you have to worry in that respect. He seems rather… indulgent.”

“You sure?” Porthos asked, brow creasing in doubt. 

“She offered to help Aramis with regard to his more submissive desires, if he should need her to,” Athos told him. 

“And the Whelp was okay with that?” Porthos asked skeptically.

“I believe it was to D’Artagnan himself that she made the first overture.”

“That…”

“I know,” Athos agreed. “I find it hard to quite understand myself. But she was earnest in her desire to help should Aramis have need of her.”

“I still think we’re playing with fire if we just stand by and let something happen between them,” Porthos said. “The Whelp may be alright with the idea of it, but the reality may not be so easy to stomach.”

“Do you have an objection to it?” Athos asked suddenly, worried that there was more to Porthos’ objections that simply concern for D’Artagnan’s feelings. “Other than for D’Artagnan’s sake, that is?”

Porthos look away for a moment then looked back at Athos. “A little,” he admitted with a shrug. “I’m greedy. I don’t mind sharing him with my brothers but…”

“I see,” Athos said. “I will speak with him and make our concerns known. If he is aware of our… misgivings about such a relationship between them, he will comport himself accordingly.”

Porthos looked at Athos, suddenly uncomfortable. He did not like the idea of putting restrictions on Aramis. It seemed too much like trying to cage the man, something he swore he would never do. “Not sure that’s really our place, is it?” Porthos asked hesitantly. 

“We are his lovers,” Athos reasoned. “It is well within our rights to ask for his faithfulness.”

“Our rights?” Porthos repeated. “Seems to me like we’d be putting chains on him. I’m not sure I can do that and still look myself in the eye.”

“Aramis will not object to such stipulations being placed upon him,” Athos assured him.

“I know he won’t,” Porthos agreed. “That’s the bloody problem, in’it? He’ll agree to it without a word of protest. Yet he’d never even think to ask so much of us.”

“We are all of us different men, Porthos. What one can abide is not necessarily what another can. Aramis understands this. We all do. Is this not why he goes to D’Artagnan for certain of his needs in the first place?”

“I still don’t like putting restrictions on him,” Porthos said, though he could see Athos’ point. “Seems… wrong somehow. Like taking something meant to be wild and free and shoving it in a bloody cage.”

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

In the other bedroom, Aramis and D’Artagnan sat down on the bed side by side. “Tell me what you need,” Aramis said as he took his lover’s hand in his. 

“Just you near,” D’Artagnan told him.

“You have been tense since yesterday,” Aramis said. “I do not think what the three of us did together bothered you, but if it did you have only to tell me.”

“No,” D’Artagnan said quickly. “I am glad you had a chance to be together as you were. I do not mind that I was not a part of it. I was happy to stand watch and know that they were looking after you.”

“Is it… is it the marks they left upon me?” Aramis ventured. “I did not get the chance to show them to you as you had asked before we left. I can do so now if you would like.”

“I would very much like,” D’Artagnan told him, smiling. “And that is not what troubles me. There are many things on my mind at the moment and some few of them are quite vexing. Part of it is simple worry for where this investigation might take us.”

“And the rest?” Aramis pressed.

“Are many things,” D’Artagnan said vaguely. “Some of which involve you, some of which do not.”

“What about me is troubling you so much?”

D’Artagnan huffed out a sigh as he realized that he was going to have to tell Aramis something. The man simply was not going to let this go until he understood at least some of what was bothering him of late. 

“Very well, if you insist on knowing,” he conceded reluctantly. “I cannot seem to stop thinking about what happened to you… what was done to you. Before. By them.”

“Oh,” Aramis said. He felt his entire body stiffen and looked away. He had been expecting to hear something about the ruins or some such. He had not expected D’Artagnan’s worries to be about… that.

“Little One, look at me,” D’Artagnan said, his voice was quiet but he command was clear. He waited as patiently as he could for Aramis to look at him. The fear and shame he saw in his lover’s eyes made his heart ache and he pulled Aramis into his arms and held him tightly. 

“It is not *you* that troubles me,” D’Artagnan told him fiercely. “It is the fact that those monsters walk free. It is my own inability to avenge you that troubles me, Little One. It is *not* anything you have done.”

“Master, no,” Aramis said. He attempted to pull back so he could look at his Master but D’Artagnan refused to relinquish his hold. Unable to do anything else, he settled back against him and held him in return. “I have no wish for vengeance. I would not see you risk yourself for something that is long since over with.”

“But it is not,” D’Artagnan told him. “And, as long as they walk free, it never will be. Not for you. Can you truly tell me otherwise?”

Aramis closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe deeply. He could feel the old panic welling up and quashed it down. This was not the time and place for panic. Not if he did not want his Master going off and doing something… rash. 

“No,” Aramis whispered. “No, it is not really over and I do not believe it ever will be. Not completely. I will carry the scars of that time with me always. Just as I carry the scars Savoy and the Ruins. They are not merely physical, but marks on my soul that I will never be completely rid of.”

“And that, my beloved, is why I would have vengeance in your name,” D’Artagnan told him. “That they have wounded you so grievously, in ways that I will never be able to heal… it enrages me. I would tear them limb from bloody limb if I could but get my hands on them.”

“Oh my love,” Aramis sighed. “What must it say about me that your rage, your desire to wreak bloody havoc in my name, is a *comfort* to me?”

“It says that you are a man that has too long been without those who would cherish him as he deserves. But you have us now. And we, all of us, cherish you beyond measure.”

“Do you think that I should tell them?” Aramis asked, wondering if having someone to share this burden with might lessen its weight for D’Artagnan.

“When you are ready,” D’Artagnan told him. “You need not do so for my benefit. Whether they know or not will make little difference to me.”

“What can I do for you tonight?” Aramis asked suddenly, needing to comfort his Master in some way, however small. “What can I do to ease you?”

“Lie with me,” D’Artagnan said. “That is all I need. To feel you in my arms and know that you are safe is all the balm my soul will ever need.”


	11. Chapter 11

Part 11

The next morning, Aramis accompanied Athos and Porthos to the garrison. While they worked on restocking their supplies, he planned to meet with Treville about what sort of space he would need in order to conduct his experiments with some degree of safety. While he did not want to put Constance at risk by doing them at the house, he did not wish to put any of his Musketeer brothers at risk either. 

They found the Captain standing on the landing outside his office when they arrived. He motioned for them to come up and join him and they did so. “Gentlemen,” he greeted.

“Sir,” Athos replied. 

“I take it you do not plan to leave just yet,” Treville said, noticing that D’Artagnan was not with them.

“No, Sir,” Athos said. “Porthos and I wanted to restock our supplies and Aramis wished to speak with you about the space he would require.”

“Yes, so you had mentioned,” Treville said then turned to Aramis. “What is it that you will need? And how far from the main compound do feel will be safest?”

“Ah, I do not require much,” Aramis said. “A small room or building, something out of the elements that can be secured. It would need a hearth though not an overly large one as well as a long table and bench. As far as distance from the garrison proper, I would say perhaps fifty feet from the nearest structure. That should be more than sufficient to ensure the safety of the other men.”

Treville thought for a moment, running through the various buildings currently available that could be modified for Aramis’ use. “Would the old shed out behind the shooting range work? I know we would need to shore it up a bit but it should be large enough and we could put a small stove inside in place of the hearth.”

“That should work just fine,” Aramis said, quite pleased with the idea. The range was one of the least occupied areas of the garrison at any given time. If he conducted his experiments there, there was virtually no chance that any of his brothers could be harmed if something went amiss.

“Alright then,” Treville said. “I’ll get men started on it at once. I assume there are other more sundry items you will need as well. Are you able to see to those yourself?”

“Of course,” Aramis said. He had already made a mental list of what all he would need. Some of which could be found in the infirmary but a great deal would need to be acquired in the market. He would also need to pay a visit to the church again and restock his supplies as well as pick up a few more. 

Untying his purse from his belt, Treville tossed it to Aramis. “I would appreciate it if you did not run through the lot of it,” he told him. “However, purchase whatever you feel you need to. And make sure to make a donation to Father Michel. I have a feeling he is going to be seeing a great deal more of you in the weeks to come.”

“Is that the priest I spoke to before?” Aramis asked. He had not gotten the man’s name when he had called gone there the first time.

“Indeed,” Treville replied. “He’s a good man. Dangerously close to being a heretic at times.”

Aramis grinned as he secured the purse to his own belt. “I knew there was a reason I liked him. I shall give him your regards, Sir.”

“You do that. And give me a few hours. I should have your laboratory ready for your use. Then we can see about testing whatever it is you brought back with you.”

“We, Sir?” Aramis asked, looking from Treville to his brothers then back again.

“We, Aramis,” Treville told him. “If you are going to be doing experiments on God only knows what within my garrison then I am shall be at your side while you do them. I believe your brothers stipulated that you not do them alone and I believe I was specifically named as well.”

“I do not like the idea of you taking such a risk, Sir,” Aramis said honestly.

“And I thank you for that, son,” Treville said kindly. “But it will be a cold day in Hell before I stand by safely while my men risk themselves. That I must do so as Captain is one thing, but this… this is quite another. Come now, surely you cannot tell me that you would rather see one of them at risk in this regard.”

“That is not fair,” Aramis said softly.

“No, I suppose it is not. But the unfairness of it does nothing to change the truthfulness of it. So we will leave Athos and Porthos to see to outfitting the lot of you or when you are ready to leave and you and I will see to this matter.”

“Yes, Sir,” Aramis said, knowing he had little choice. Besides which, the Captain was right. He would rather it be him at risk than one of his lovers. And he had given his word that he would not conduct his experiments alone. 

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

With the other three off to the garrison, D’Artagnan was free to go about his business without fear of his lovers asking what he was up to. He knew that they were starting to wonder where he kept slipping off to. He would have to think of something to tell them when they asked. For now, however, he had quarry to track. 

Careful to have removed anything that might indicate his status as a Musketeer, D’Artagnan returned to the tavern. He was relieved to see that the man he was stalking was once again present. He ordered an ale and moved as close to the man as he dared, not wanting to chance drawing attention to himself. 

“Ever find your Musketeer?” the barkeep asked when he set his ale down in front of him.

“No,” D’Artagnan practically snarled, gratified when it seemed to garner the man’s attention. “But I think I know his name at least.”

“Oh yeah?” the barkeep said. He seemed overly interested in D’Artagnan’s opinion and he wondered just what connection he might have to the man and his wife. 

“Yeah. You ever hear of a Musketeer called Aramis?” D’Artagnan made sure to sneer when he said the name. He kept his face turned down, supposedly looking into his ale, but he was watching the barkeep out of the corner of his eye and saw the man’s obvious reaction to the name. He wished he could have chanced a look at his quarry but he did not want to risk tipping him off.

“Think I might’ve heard it mentioned a time or two,” the barkeep replied. 

“Well, if I ever run across him, he’ll have my dagger planted in his back,” D’Artagnan told him.

The barkeep moved away then but not before D’Artagnan saw him nod to someone behind him. He tensed for a moment, then relaxed when a man moved up beside him and sat down a little ways away. He forced himself not to react when he realized it was his quarry but he spent a few moments getting a good look at the man and committing his face to memory. 

After a few moments, the man turned to face D’Artagnan and smiled. “I could not help but overhear your conversation,” the man said. 

“Yeah, what’s it to you?” D’Artagnan replied, not wanting to seem too eager.

“I only mention it because I have had a similar run in with the same Musketeer,” the man said. “Only it was my wife, not my sister, that he took liberties with.”

D’Artagnan looked at the man then and let some of the ice melt from his demeanor. “Disgusting what these Musketeers think they can get away with,” he spat.

“Indeed it is,” the man replied and held his hand out to D’Artagnan. “My name is Pierre Champney.”

“Charles Bonacieux,” D’Artagnan said, thinking quickly. 

“Well, Charles, I am afraid I must run but perhaps we can talk again some time. I agree that these Musketeers really should be taught a proper lesson and I believe you and I could be just the men to do so.”

“I look forward to it,” D’Artagnan said. He watched the man get up and leave and had to make himself stay where he was. He had planned to follow the man and find out where he lived but those plans were no longer necessary. He now had a name and, if he played his cards right, a way to get the man right where he wanted him. All he had to do was be patient.

As D’Artagnan continued to nurse his drink, he began to form his plan. He had thought about taking them unawares in their home but that was too risky. They were bound to have servants which would mean he would have to either pay them off, something that did not ensure they would not later talk, or kill them as well, something he truly did not want to do.

With this new development, however, he thought he might not need to. If this man wanted another shot at Aramis, and it appeared that he did, then perhaps he could lure him into a trap. And, with what Aramis had told him of the man’s wife, possibly her as well. He would need someplace secluded, though. Someplace where they were not likely to be stumbled upon and someplace where their screams would not be overheard.

D’Artagnan knew there were several empty warehouses out by the docks. He also knew that most of them were quite empty past supper time. Ships did not attempt to dock after dark for fear of damaging their hulls and cargo tended to be off-loaded while there was still light to do so. It would not be difficult to determine which of them was the most secluded from both other buildings as well as passersby. All he would have to do then would be to lure the pair there.

There were only a few things he would need – rope, gags and a whip. These could all easily be hidden within the warehouse ahead of time or even carried on his person. He was not sure just what kind of whip had been used on Aramis but, judging from the fact that the woman had wielded it without causing him undue pain in the beginning, he thought it was probably a light scourge of some sort. He would visit the market when he got the chance and see what he could find. While the thought of using the exact same whip appealed to him, he planned to do significantly more than simply leave them with a few scars. 

His mind flashed to the whip Porthos had used on Athos at the ruins and he grunted in surprise. Shaking his head, he pushed that image away. He did not want to bring his brothers into this, even in his mind. While he knew they would want revenge for what was done to Aramis, he knew they would never allow him to kill these animals as they deserved. Besides, he was not sure that Porthos or Athos could handle even watching someone being whipped, let alone helping with it. No, it would be better for everyone if his brothers remained unaware.

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

While the others took care of things at the garrison, Aramis headed for Saint-Severin to speak with Father Michel. He needed to restock his supplies as well as talk to the Father about what he had discovered so far. 

When he entered the church, he found the Father at the altar once more. Removing his hat, he smiled and headed over to the man. “Good day, Father Michel,” he said as he laid his saddle bags on the altar table.

“And a good day to you as well, Aramis,” Father Michel replied. “It is good to see you back. Things went well, I take it?”

“We are still investigating,” Aramis told him. “I would speak with you about some of the things I have found if you’ve a moment.”

“Of course,” Father Michel said. “Would you like me to bless your supplies once more?”

“Yes,” Aramis said, blushing slightly. “I also need to acquire more Holy Water, both for the mission and for some tests I wish to run.”

“Tests?” Father Michel asked.

“That is part of the things I would speak with you about.”

“Let us take care of these matters first then. Afterward, we can speak about what you have discovered.” As Aramis laid out the items from his saddle bags, the priest went to get more Holy Water for him. He hesitated a moment when he spied a rosary hanging on the wall of his private study. It had been given to him by his Bishop upon his ordination. Taking it down, he brought it to his lips and carried it with him back out to the altar.

He laid the Holy Water down with the rest of Aramis’ things then laid the rosary down as well. One by one he blessed each item, including the saddle bags. When he was done, he picked up the rosary and held it out to Aramis.

“Father?” 

“My Bishop presented this to me when I was first ordained as a Priest. I have treasured it always. I would have you take it.”

“Father Michel, I cannot,” Aramis said, stunned.

“Yes, young man, you most certainly can,” Father Michel insisted. “I am an old priest, sitting safe in my church. What need do I have of such a powerful weapon of God? Take it and let it keep you and those around you safe from the evils in this world.”

Aramis closed his eyes and bowed his head. When he lifted it, his eyes shone but he reached out and took the rosary from the priest’s hand. Rather than slip it into his bags, he put it over his head and tucked it into his shirt. “Thank you,” he said roughly. 

“Now, let us sit down so you might tell me of what you have found. From the look of you, I see that it has troubled you greatly.”

They sat in the front row of the church, knowing that anyone who came in to pray would not venture near them unless they truly needed the priest. “Girls have gone missing. Some quite young,” Aramis began. “There have been reports of ritualistic sites as well. We investigated two of them and found clear indications of sacrificial offerings. There were animal carcasses strewn about so I can only hope that was all that was slaughtered there.”

“My God,” the priest muttered.

“There were some symbols painted in the blood as well. I drew them from memory as best I could,” Aramis said as he pulled out a small leather-bound notebook. “I would show them to you, if you would not mind.”

“Show me,” the priest said.

Aramis opened the notebook to the first drawing. It was a circle with what looked like an A in the center of it. He saw the priest pale at the sight of it and frowned. “Do you know what this means?”

“Is is generally used to indicate a sacrifice has been made, either animal or human,” Father Michel explained. “Show me the second.”

Aramis turned the page and revealed the second drawing. It looked like a rectangle with the top and bottom squeezed inward and an X at one end and a line at the other. “Do you know what this represents?”

“Yes,” Father Michel said, closing his eyes briefly. “It is a type of binding rune. It is used to bind a powerful prisoner so that they cannot escape. They would not… they would not have used this for an animal, Aramis.”

“I see,” Aramis said, closing the notebook and tucking it away. “Father, are you alright?”

“I will be fine,” Michel said, making himself focus on the task at hand. “Now tell me what else you have found.”

“I took some samplings of the blood stained grasses. That is what I wish to test.”

“Test how?” the priest asked.

“I… You will think me insane,”

“I assure you, son, I will not,” Father Michel told him.

“I wish to see if the blood reacts at all when Holy Water is applied to it,” Aramis said.

“You think… I am not sure what you think. Explain why you would do this,” the priest said, his voice holding no censure, only curiosity.

“As I told one of my companions when I cautioned him not to allow the blood to touch him in any way, there is power in blood. Also, I am not convinced that blood is all that this might be,” Aramis replied.

“What else could it be?” the priest asked.

Aramis merely looked at him and waited.

“Do you truly think it could be something unholy?” Father Michel asked after long moments.

“I do not know,” Aramis admitted. “But the last time I did not follow my instincts in such regards, I nearly lost two of my brothers, one in body and one in soul. I will not make such a mistake again.”

“No,” Father Michel said. “No, you are right to be cautious. Do not let me or anyone else convince you otherwise. You have a safe place to conduct such experiments?”

“Yes, Captain Treville is making one ready for me now. It is within the garrison but far enough removed so that it should not put any of the other men in danger.”

“You will not, I am sure, undertake such actions alone,” Father Michel stated, making his opinion on the matter quite clear.

“No, Father,” Aramis said with a chuckle. “I have already promised my… my brothers that I would not. The Captain will assist me.”

“You may refer to them as your lovers, my son,” Father Michel told him. “Any conversation between you and I will be treated as those of the confessional. I shall never divulge to another living soul.”

“I do not wish to put you in such a position, Father,” Aramis said. “It is a capital crime after all.”

“I am concerned with the state of your soul, Aramis. Everything else is the concern of others.”

“Do you know that you are the second priest I have met of late that has actually restored my faith in the church rather than tarnish it?” Aramis remarked.

“While I am gladdened that I have been able to do so, I am also saddened that so many of my brethren have failed in this way.”

“Athos, one of my brothers, he was actually worried that I might be thinking of returning to the priesthood,” Aramis told him.

“He was?”

“Oh yes,” Aramis replied. “He knew, of course, that I would never leave them. But, as he said, I do not have to leave them to both take my vows and keep them.”

“And he did not think he, and the others, would be able to convince you otherwise?” the priest asked.

“He would not try,” Aramis told him. “Nor would he allow them to. He would consider it fighting God for me and he would not do that. Better to have what part of me I was willing to offer than risk losing me completely.”

“He sounds like a very good man,” Father Michel replied. “A bit daft, mind you, but a good man nonetheless.”

Aramis laughed loudly at that then looked around quickly to make sure he had not disturbed anyone. Luckily they were quite alone. “Yes, yes he is. He does not realize that it is my love for them that has allowed me to find my faith once more. Without them…”

“You would be but an empty vessel,” Father Michel finished for him. “This even I can see and we have only spoken twice now. I take it you assured him that you had no aspirations for such.”

“I did,” Aramis nodded. “I told him God did not need another priest. He needed a warrior who could do some good. While I am not the best choice for this…”

“You are the perfect choice for this,” Michel countered, interrupting him. “God does not choose unwisely. He knows what He is doing. He chose you for a reason, Aramis. Trust in Him to know what is best. And you right, He does not need another priest saying Mass and handing out penance. He needs a warrior protecting His flock from the wolves that the devil sends after them. Remember your faith and be His warrior.”

“I will do my best, Father.”

“That is all He ever asks of any of us, son. Now, let us pray together for a while before you must return to your companions.”


	12. Chapter 12

Part 12

By the time Aramis returned to the garrison, Athos and Porthos were just leaving. They had stayed to help Treville get Aramis’ laboratory outfitted and were heading back home. Aramis thanked them then set about finishing getting the small shed ready for his use. 

He had procured some few supplies from the infirmary. The rest, such as the retorts and flasks made of both glass and metal, he purchased in the square. He had hoped to find a burette, or at least something similar that would allow him to make very precise measurements, but had not been able to. He would see if the Captain might be able to obtain one for him while they were continuing their investigation. In the meantime, he would work with what he had.

“I take it this meets with your satisfaction?” Treville asked as he entered the small building, shutting the door behind him.

“Yes, very much so,” Aramis said. He had just finished laying out his supplies on the long table. Untying the Captain’s purse from his belt, he tossed it to him with a grin.

“Glad to see you didn’t empty it completely,” Treville said as he pocketed it. “Now, what can I do to help?”

“Not much really,” Aramis said. “I wish to test the samples I took to see how they react if certain regents are applied to them. It is not actually a process that requires two people.”

“Still, I would agree that it is best you not attempt this alone. Just in case,” Treville said. 

“While I am fairly certain that it is unnecessary, I will not argue. If it eases my brothers’ worry, then I shall abide. And, while the danger is minimal, there is still some risk involved.”

“Your relationship has been good for you,” Treville said, eyeing him shrewdly. “Not so long ago, you would have balked at the very idea of taking such a precaution.”

“Not so long ago, I did not have so much to lose.”

“Indeed,” Treville replied. “Now, I know there must be something I can do. I would advise you to take advantage of this. It will not be often I put myself at your disposal like this.”

Aramis laughed and nodded. “Alright. You can get a fire going in the stove for starters,” he said. “Then put your gloves on. I do not want you touching any of this with your bare hands.”

Treville quickly did as he was bid, getting a fire going in the stove. He then donned his gloves and sat down on the bench on the other side of the table from Aramis. He watched Aramis open a leather pouch and pull out four carefully bundled bits of linen. As he began to unwrap the first one, Treville frowned.

“I thought you said not to let it touch my bare skin,” Treville remarked when he noticed that Aramis was using his bare hands to unwrap them. 

“I did,” Aramis replied as he continued without looking up.

“Then why are you not wearing your gloves?” Treville asked, his frowning turning into a scowl.

“Because I cannot do the work I need to do with my gloves on,” Aramis explained. “They are too bulky and impede my movements too much. I will be cautious. And you are here in case I should err.”

“Very well,” Treville relented. He did not like the thought of Aramis exposing himself to something he thought potentially toxic in some way, but he could understand his reasoning. Their gloves were thick, made for protecting their hands while they fought. They were never intended to be worn while doing intricate work such as this.

Treville watched as Aramis examined each sample he had taken, making notes in a small journal he took from his pocket. When Aramis began adding bits of the blood stained grass to various vials, Treville’s asked him about it.

“I have filled the vials with Holy Water, Sacramental wine and Consecrated Host,” Aramis explained.

“And what is it you expect to see?” Treville asked.

“In truth, nothing,” Aramis said. “At least that is my hope. But… we shall see.”

Once the stove was heated, he had Treville warm some water for him so that he could place the final bits into hot water to hopefully break down the blood from the grass. It would also serve as his control in the experiment, giving him something to compare the other vials to.

Treville watched carefully as Aramis added the bits of grass and bark to each of the vials. He paid special attention to his hands, making sure his skin did not come into contact with anything. Once the vials were all filled and stoppered, he breathed a sigh of relief.

“So,” he began as he watched the vials for any activity. “It does not appear to be reacting in any way.”

“No,” Aramis said. “Thank God for that. I shall leave them here for now and check them again before we ride out in the morning. If they have not reacted by then, we are probably safe.”

“You think there is a chance of something happening?”

“I do not know,” Aramis said. “But I still get a sense of unease about all of this. I would know as much about this as I can before we return there.”

“Alright,” Treville said. “Let’s lock this place up for the night. You can check them again in the morning. Let me know if you need me to dispose of anything while you are gone.”

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

When D’Artagnan returned home he was not surprised to find Athos and Porthos waiting for him in the kitchen. He paused for a moment in the doorway then headed toward the stairs. He was aware that he had given far too much away when he had hesitated but there was nothing to be done for it now. 

He was just stripping out of his coat when he heard the bedroom door open behind him. Two sets of footsteps told him that both men had come into the room. He continued undressing, refusing to turn around, hoping his unconcerned air might deter them. He should have known better.

“What’s going on with you, Whelp?” Porthos asked as he and Athos came around to sit on the bed, forcing D’Artagnan to turn away if he did not want to look at them.

“What do you mean?” D’Artagnan stalled.

“This is the third time you have disappeared on some errand or another,” Athos clarified. “And you have been rather tense of late as well. D’Artagnan, we cannot help you if we do not know what it is that troubles you so.”

“There is nothing,” D’Artagnan told them. “I have merely been worried for Aramis. I do not like where this investigation is headed.”

“And you errands of late?” Athos pressed, refusing to let the younger man brush off their concerns.

“Are something of a personal matter which I have been attending to,” D’Artagnan hedged. “They are nothing you need concern yourselves with.”

“You are our brother,” Porthos told him. “We are always concerned with your welfare.”

“Do not be,” D’Artagnan said firmly then softened his tone. “There is nothing to worry about, brothers. I am simply taking care of some business that is long overdue.”

“Very well,” Athos said. “But we are here for you. Whatever this is, you do not have to handle it alone. We would help you in any way that we could if you but ask it of us.”

“I know,” D’Artagnan said. “But this… this is something I must handle on my own.”

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

“How did your experiments go?” Athos asked as they settled in the sitting room after dinner. Constance once again made to sit in the chair next to the sofa, but Aramis stopped her, pulling her onto the sofa with them so that she sat partially on his lap and partially on D’Artagnan’s. 

“Everything seems normal so far,” Aramis said as he moved Constance around until she was comfortably seated mostly on D’Artagnan’s lap with her legs draped across Aramis’. “I’ll need to check them again in the morning before we head out, but I do not expect to see any change.”

“That is a good thing, is it not?” D’Artagnan asked.

“Yes, quite good,” Aramis confirmed. 

“What happens if something changes?” Constance asked.

“I do not know and I hope I do not have to find out,” Aramis said, “but we shall deal with that only if we must.”

They spent the next few hours together, sitting and talking, enjoying each other’s company. Porthos occasionally shot Athos a look whenever Constance or Aramis got particularly touchy with each other, but Athos merely quirked his eyebrow, letting him know that he was aware but that there was not much to be done for it, at least not now. Perhaps once they were alone they would make mention of the growing closeness between the pair and try to gauge Aramis’ reaction… and D’Artagnan’s.

“Well, since you lot are to leave at first light, I shall take myself off.” Constance removed Aramis’ arm from around her waist and stood. With a mischievous smirk she could not help but add, “Don’t worry about the bedding. I’ll take care of that while you’re gone.” She laughed at the mortified groans she heard from Athos and Aramis as she walked away.

“That’s an interesting color on you, love,” Porthos said as he reached out and stroked Athos’ cheek. He had felt himself blush at Constance’s words, recalling the previous state they had left their rooms in and the fact that she had cleaned them.

“She is devious,” Athos remarked as he leaned his head back on the sofa and tried to will the heat from his face.

“That she is,” Aramis chuckled. “But she does have a point. What do you say we adjourn for the evening and see how messy we can make our room?”

“All of us together?” D’Artagnan asked. He had thought Aramis might want to pair off again, but he was more than happy for all of them to be together.

“I would like that,” Aramis replied. “If the rest of you have no objection.”

“Sounds good to me,” Porthos said, pushing his niggling worry about Constance to the back of his mind. As long as Aramis was with him then he had nothing to worry about. 

“I agree,” Athos said as well. He had not missed the relief that passed over Porthos’ face when Aramis had said he wanted them to all be together tonight. He knew, for the sake of his brother if nothing else, that he was going to have to say something about the burgeoning relationship between Constance and Aramis. He was not, however, sure if this was the right time to do so. The last thing they needed was to have any tension between them before they left tomorrow morning.

They said no more as they headed up to their room. D’Artagnan stayed behind to double check that all of the doors were secured, then he joined his lovers. Athos had already undressed and climbed into the bed on the far side and was waiting for the rest of them.

“Sorry,” D’Artagnan said as he began shedding his clothes as quickly as he could. Once he was down to his small clothes, he slid in next to Athos with Aramis following behind. Porthos closed and locked their bedroom door then he, too, joined the others in their bed. 

“Any particular reason you locked the door?” D’Artagnan asked.

“Just didn’t want to be disturbed,” Porthos shrugged and cast a quick glance at Athos.

Athos gave a curt shake of his head, letting Porthos know he would not be mentioning anything this night. There was simply too much already going on to risk upsetting Aramis’ equilibrium in such a way. Besides, it could simply be a matter of the two of them getting used to being around each other quite so much. Perhaps, given time, it would settle down on its own.

“And is there anything you wanted to do that you did not want to be disturbed from?” Aramis asked, letting his voice take on a sultriness that his lovers all easily recognized.

“Oh I can think of a thing or two,” Porthos replied as he molded himself to Aramis’ back, letting the other man feel the press of him all along his body.

“Can you now?” Aramis gasped breathlessly. He reached out and laid his arm across D’Artagnan so that he could take hold of Athos’ hip. He tugged him forward then, pulling him in close behind D’Artagnan and making their youngest moan at the feel of him.

“Seems like you got a few ideas of your own there, love,” Porthos replied as he ground his erection against Aramis’ backside making them both groan aloud.

“Tell us what you want,” Athos urged as he crowded in close behind D’Artagnan, pushing him even closer to Aramis. He let his own hardness rub against D’Artagnan’s hip, grunting when the younger man pushed back into him.

“I want… I want to be fucked,” Aramis said, blushing faintly as he did so. He was not ashamed of his desires, but to voice them like this, amidst all of his lovers sent a decadent thrill through him that had him blushing at the wantonness of it.

“By me or by your Master?” Porthos asked, his lips brushing against Aramis’ ear as he did so.

“We… we have not done that,” Aramis gasped, feeling desire shoot through him at the very thought. He and D’Artagnan had used their hands on each other and he had taken his Master in his mouth, but Porthos had been the only one to fuck him as of yet.

“Do you want to?” Porthos asked. “Or would you rather save that for some time when it’s just the two of you?” He could understand if they did. It was not like they would actually need him and Athos there for anything. Not like it had been when Porthos had taken Athos for the first time.

“Master?” Aramis looked to D’Artagnan, unsure. He wanted his Master to take him but he was not sure he was ready for that or that he wanted to do so with the others right there. 

“Yes, Little One?” D’Artagnan replied, torn. On the one hand, he wanted Aramis, wanted his Little One that way badly, but on the other, he was not sure they were quite ready for that step yet.

“Tell me what you want, Master,” Aramis pled.

“I would like, very much, to watch Porthos and Athos sharing you,” D’Artagnan said after thinking a moment. “Will you do that for me, Little One? Will you let me watch while you give our brothers pleasure?”

“Oh, oh yes, Master. Yes,” Aramis replied eagerly.

“Is that acceptable to you both as well?” D’Artagnan asked, looking first at Porthos then over his shoulder at Athos.

“What about you?” Athos asked.

“I will be quite satisfied with watching,” D’Artagnan replied. He could see the doubt on Athos’ face and knew it was mirrored on Porthos’ as well. “Give him pleasure. Make this night good for him. I will… direct him to some extent so that he still feels my presence, but… let him have this.”

“You are far too good to all of us,” Athos said as he kissed D’Artagnan on the neck. “We shall do as you ask. Tonight. But very soon it shall be you who we focus on.”

Nothing else was said as they shifted position, D’Artagnan moving back against the wall so that Athos could be next to Aramis. They shed their smalls so that they were all naked, even D’Artagnan. Porthos had taken the small pot of oil out of the bedside table so it was within easy reach when they were ready for it.

“Tell him how to pleasure us,” Athos said, wanting to draw D’Artagnan into their lovemaking as much as he could. At the groan Aramis let out, he knew the effort was appreciated.

“Does my Little One like that thought?” D’Artagnan began, his voice pitched low and rough. 

“Yes,” Aramis moaned. “Please, Master, tell me how to be of use to them.”

“I will,” D’Artagnan promised. “But first you must tell me what kind of use you would like to be, for I do not think you are wanting to be my Little One right now. I think you would much rather be my little slut… and theirs as well. Is that what you want?”

“Y-y-yes,” Aramis stammered, looking away and flushing slightly.

“Look at me,” D’Artagnan commanded firmly. He waited until Aramis turned his head back to face him before continuing. “None of that. There is no shame in this bed. Look at your lovers. Do you see anything but desire on their faces?”

Aramis looked at Athos and Porthos then. The lust he saw in their eyes made him ache with desire and he barely stopped himself from reaching down to stroke his hardening cock. As he continued to look at them, he saw the love mingled in with the lust and felt the last of his worries dissipate. His lovers understood, at least as much as they could, and they were willing to give him this.

“Better?” D’Artagnan asked when he saw Aramis visibly relax. 

“Yes, Master,” Aramis replied.

“Then tell me again,” D’Artagnan prompted. “Do you wish to be their slut tonight or is there something else you would prefer?”

“No. I… I wish to be their slut,” Aramis said. He did not look away from them as he said it this time but he still could not help the flush of color that stained his cheeks as he did so. While many would consider this a type of humiliation, Aramis did not. There was some degree of embarrassment at being so on display… so objectified, but that was something he enjoyed. 

Porthos could not hold back his growl at Aramis’ words. Leaning in close, he brought his lips to his ear again and whispered just loud enough for all of them to hear him. “I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll be feeling me for days.”

“We… we ride out to-tomorrow,” Aramis gasped, his cock jerking at Porthos’ words.

“I know,” Porthos said. “But a slut like you should be able to handle it.”

“Oh God,” Aramis groaned. He had not expected Porthos to fall so easily into this role and it was setting his blood on fire to hear such words from him. 

“And what shall I be doing while you are fucking him raw?” Athos asked as he moved in close to Aramis’ other side, effectively pinning him on his back between him and Porthos. 

“That’s up to his Master,” Porthos said, looking up at D’Artagnan. “Figure he’ll either have you riding his cock or fucking his throat. You got a preference?”

“Not particularly,” Athos managed to get out. The images Porthos painted in his head were both exquisite and he was not at all sure which he wanted more. To take Aramis’ mouth while Porthos fucked him was a long-standing fantasy. However, he had never even considered having Aramis fuck him while Porthos took him as well. He thought that might just be more than Aramis could handle.

“Master,” Aramis called out, his eyes squeezed shut as he his body shook. “Oh Master, are you… are you going to let them…”

“Let them have you?” D’Artagnan finished for him. “However they wish? Yes, yes I think I am. And you, my little slut, will beg them for every touch, every caress, every inch of flesh that they put inside of you. Won’t you?”

“Yes, Master,” Aramis gasped. “I’ll be good. I promise. I’ll… I’ll serve you so well.”

“I know you will,” D’Artagnan replied, his voice much softer. “You always do. You have never disappointed me and you never will. Now show your brothers how much you want them.”

“Please,” Aramis began to beg as he reached out and ran his hands over whatever part of Athos and Porthos he could touch. “Please touch me… use me. I would serve you however you wish it tonight.” 

With a growl, Porthos fisted his hand in Aramis’ hair and jerked his head back, baring his neck. As he leaned in close he snarled, “One day soon we’ll have you and your Master both spread out between us, moaning and begging us to fuck you both.” He bit down hard on Aramis’ neck, drawing a sharp cry from the man before using his tongue to soothe the worst of the sting.

“Fuck,” Athos spat as Porthos’ words made his own cock jerk. The thought of putting both Aramis and D’Artagnan between them like this, especially when D’Artagnan was acting in the capacity of Aramis’ Master, made his cock throb and he reached down to squeeze himself.

“You like that thought, brother?” Porthos asked, grinning.

“Much more than I thought I would,” Athos admitted. “But that is a thought for another time. Now we have our slut to make use of. Tell me, D’Artagnan, how will you have me use him? Would you rather he take me in his mouth or do you wish to see him fucking me?”

D’Artagnan had to take a moment to grip himself at the lurid picture Athos’ words created. “Both are so tempting,” he managed after a moment. “If you truly have no preference, then I think I would have you take his mouth while Porthos fucks him. I know that has been a fantasy on both your parts for a while now. I would see you have that tonight.”

“You hear that, slut,” Porthos said, releasing Aramis’ neck to once more whisper filthily into his ear. “Your Master wants Athos to fuck your throat while I fuck your ass. You’re gonna have both our cocks inside you at once.”

“Please,” Aramis begged, the very thought making his cock jerk and drool on his belly. “Oh please. I want… so badly…”

“Spread your legs so they can start getting your ready, little slut,” D’Artagnan told him, attempting to give Aramis something with which to anchor himself. He did not want him getting quite as lost in this as he did before. It would be too hard to tell if a line was being crossed and he did not want to take the chance.

“Yes, Master,” Aramis replied as he hooked his hands under his knees and pulled his legs back, spreading himself wide for his lovers.

Porthos wasted no time getting Aramis ready. While he worked on stretching him, Athos concentrated on kissing and touching as much of the rest of Aramis’ body as he could. He felt hot all over, as if his skin was suddenly too tight and the only thing that might fix it was to be buried inside the man spread out between them. 

In less time than he would have thought possible, Porthos had Aramis taking three of his oiled fingers inside him, giving testament to just how badly he wanted this as well. Pulling his fingers free, he sat back and regarded the pair. 

“Need to put you on your hands and knees, slut,” Porthos said as he began man-handling Aramis into position. “That way Athos can fuck your throat while I fuck your ass. It’s a shame he doesn’t want your ass. He could have you when I’m done. You’d be all loose and slick for him with my spend running down your thighs.”

Athos froze as Porthos’ words made his heart slam in his chest. He thought of taking Aramis after Porthos had finished, of fucking him after Porthos had spent inside of him, adding his own seed until it ran down his legs in a sticky mess and moaned loudly.

Porthos jerked his head up at the sound of Athos’ moan. He saw the lust-blown look in Athos’ eyes and grinned. “You like that thought, love? You wanna take him after I’ve had my fill of him?”

“Yes,” Athos said, a wave of want running through him so strongly he nearly swayed where he knelt on the bed.

Aramis looked at Porthos then up at Athos. He was almost utterly gone, lost in the haze of surrender, but not entirely. He was still *there* enough to realize that this was something new and he was not at all sure his Master would allow it.

“Aramis?” D’Artagnan called, sensing his lover’s sudden distress. “Is this something you want? Do you want both of them to fuck you? It is alright if you do not.”

“I… I do want it, Master,” he said softly, blushing at the admission of wanting something so debauched. “But I am not sure if it is allowed.”

“If you desire it, then you may have it,” D’Artagnan said. He moved farther back from them then, as far into the corner of the bed as he could manage. It was not that he wanted to distance himself from them but rather that he wanted to give them the freedom to explore this as they would. He would not leave, however. Aramis was too far under and the others too wrapped up in the scenario for him to comfortably do that. But he would make himself as unobtrusive as possible and content himself with observing.

With the decision now made, Porthos finished turning Aramis onto his hands and knees. He coated his cock with more oil then gripped his hips and slid inside him. He paused, giving him a moment to adjust, then began fucking him with long, hard strokes. 

Meanwhile, Athos gripped Aramis by the hair and pulled his head up. He took his cock in his other hand and pressed it to Aramis’ lips. When Aramis opened his mouth, he shoved it inside roughly and began to thrust, earning a moan from his lover. Releasing his grip on himself, Athos brought his other hand to Aramis’ head as well and used his grip to guide the man’s movements, essentially fucking Aramis’ mouth up and down on his cock as he wanted.

Porthos growled as he watched Athos using Aramis’ mouth. He began to thrust into him even harder, turned on by the way Aramis moaned and keened as they used him. They had never been so rough with him, so demanding, but judging from the sounds they were pulling from their lover, Aramis was enjoying every second of it.

Leaning forward a bit, Porthos reached around Aramis and grasped his cock, gratified to find it hard and leaking between his legs. He stroked it as he fucked into him, intent on making him spend on his cock. That would leave him even more relaxed and pliable for Athos, something he thought his lover might enjoy very much. 

D’Artagnan watched them as they took Aramis roughly between them. He kept his attention focused on Aramis, gauging his reactions to look for signs of pain or distress. He had not expected Porthos to fall so deeply into this role and he was concerned that a line might get crossed without notice. He wished now he had not shed his smallclothes with the rest of them, but he doubted they would take much notice of him or his distinct lack of arousal. Even if they did, he could probably convince them that he had already found his release. For the moment, they did not need to know anything else.

Porthos could feel his own release building. Having Aramis like this, wanton and needy between them was simply too much to take for long. He stroked his lover’s cock faster, squeezing as he did so and was pleased when Aramis gave a strangled shout around Athos’ cock and began to spend, his whole body seizing up then jerking hard. It was enough to push Porthos over the edge as well and he slammed into Aramis hard, grinding against him as he began to fill him with his seed. 

Aramis lay gasping under Porthos, trying to get his breath back. He had never been so thoroughly fucked in all his life. His body felt utterly wrung out and he knew he still had Athos to take, to please. The thought was enough to make his stomach clench in uncontrolled desire.

Finally spent, he managed to let go of both Aramis’ cock and his hip, grimacing at the red finger-shaped marks he had left, knowing they would be bruises come morning. Athos had pulled his cock free of Aramis’ mouth as well and was lightly stroking himself as he waiting for Porthos to gather his wits enough to be able to move.

“One second, brother,” Porthos said, laughing lightly.

“I am well,” Athos replied, though his voice was strained. “Our little slut has kept me quite entertained.”

“Oh I’m sure he has,” Porthos said. He took a deep breath and slowly pulled out, wincing at the feel. He all but collapsed to the side, leaving room for Athos to take his place.

Athos quickly moved down the bed and between Aramis’ spread knees. He reached up and spread his cheeks widely, staring at his reddened hole as Porthos’ seed leaked out of it. “Are you sure you are up to this?” he asked, not wanting to actually harm Aramis in any way.

“I should be fine,” Aramis replied. “I do not feel any pain. Only a general soreness.”

“Perhaps it is best if I check,” Athos said softly then shoved two of his fingers inside of him before Aramis could even puzzle out what he meant.

Aramis hissed and tried to jerk forward but Athos’ grip on his hip stopped him. He could feel the fingers probing inside him, rubbing along his walls then stroking over that place inside him that made him moan and writhe regardless of the fact that he had just spent.

“Sounds fine to me,” Porthos laughed as Aramis pushed back against Athos’ fingers unable to help himself.

“Indeed,” Athos said. He pulled his fingers free and used the spend that coated them to slick his own hard cock.

“Fuck, brother,” Porthos groaned, his own spent member trying to twitch at the sight.

“Wh-wh-what?” Aramis stammered, unable to see what had caused Porthos to swear so.

“He’s using my spend to slick himself,” Porthos told him and chuckled again when Aramis moaned wantonly at his words.

“Reach back and spread yourself,” Athos told him as he readied himself. It took a moment for Aramis to comply as he had to balance on his shoulder. Once he was spread, Athos placed the head of his cock against his hole and held it there. “Do not let go. I want to watch myself moving in and out of you.”

Athos waited a moment more then pushed in. He felt a moment of resistance then he was past it and inside Aramis for the first time. He did not stop to give Aramis a chance to adjust to him, though, and keep pushing forward until he was buried all the way inside him, his hips pressing against Aramis’ hands as he held himself spread open still.

Aramis panted through the sensation of being so suddenly and completely filled. It was not actually overwhelming as he had just been fucked, and fucked hard, by Porthos so his body was stretched. But he had not been expecting to be so completely filled so quickly and it was taking him time to adjust. It was such a wonderfully decadent feeling of being *used* and he felt a shudder run through him at the realization.

Athos held himself there for long seconds before slowly pulling back. He kept pulling back until he pulled all the way out. He rubbed Aramis’ hip when he made a noise of distress at the sudden feeling of emptiness. “Shhh, it’s alright,” he soothed. “Just keep holding yourself open for me. I will fill you up again. I promise.”

As soon as he finished speaking, Athos pressed his cock back to Aramis’ hole. He held it there again then pushed forward. He did so harder this time, sheathing himself inside of Aramis much quicker, though not brutally so. He could feel Aramis’ hands spasming against his hips where they were pinned and he ground against them as if trying to get even deeper inside the man. Once again, he slowly began to pull back until he was all the way out. He took himself in hand and rubbed the head of his cock over the back of Aramis’ hands as he held himself open then up and down his cleft. 

“I shall not pull out again,” Athos whispered as he placed the head of his cock against Aramis’ hole. “Are you ready?”

Aramis could only nod, too far gone to speak. His whole body was on fire and his cock was growing hard again, though how it was doing so this soon Aramis had no idea. All he knew was that he would go insane if Athos did not fuck him but he was beyond being able to articulate his need. He was completely at his mercy.

Holding Aramis in a bruising grip, Athos snapped his hips forward hard and fast, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust, wrenching an almost guttural cry from the man. He held himself inside him for a second, enjoying the feel of being inside of him then he was pulling back and thrusting forward in a punishing rhythm.

Aramis could not help but shout when Athos slammed into him. It tore from his throat. He could feel his lover taking his body almost violently, claiming him in a way he had never thought to be claimed by the man and it made his heart sing even as his body thrummed with want. His cock was rock hard and leaking and he longed to take himself in hand, but he did not dare move his hands. Athos had made it clear that he wanted to be able to watch his cock moving in and out of him. Aramis would do nothing to interfere with his pleasure.

It did not last long. It could not. Not with how hard Athos was taking him. Crying out, Athos snapped his hips forward one final time and held himself there as he began to spend, his seed mixing with Porthos’ as he filled Aramis. And that, the knowledge that Athos’ own seed was now inside him as well as Porthos’, was enough to drive Aramis over the edge for the second time that night and he began to spend as well, his hips struggling in Athos’ grip as his seed spilled out onto the bed sheets.

As quietly as he could, D’Artagnan moved off the bed, careful not to jostle Athos and Aramis. He grabbed his smallclothes and breeches off the floor and headed out into the hall. He quickly slipped into them and went downstairs in search of a basin of water and some towels. 

When he returned to the room, the three men were lounging on the bed and looked up as he walked in. “I thought you might want to clean up a bit,” D’Artagnan said as he set the basin down. He wet some of the clothes and handed one to Athos and Porthos then he took one himself and began cleaning Aramis.

“You do not have to do that,” Aramis said, a bit embarrassed at the thought of his Master cleaning other men’s spend from his body, even that of his brothers’.

“You are mine to care for, are you not?” D’Artagnan said quietly. At Aramis’ nod he continued, cleaning him gently but thoroughly. He was extra careful when he cleaned between his cheeks, patting the red and swollen hole rather than rubbing over it. He saw no signs of any damage and was relieved. While riding would be a bit of a challenge tomorrow, he did not think Aramis would find it too painful. And if he did, they would stop and make camp until such time as he could ride without undue pain.

“You are pensive again,” Athos remarked as he watched D’Artagnan caring for Aramis.

“I was merely thinking about tomorrow,” he told him. “I do not think riding will be too much of a trial, but if it is we can always make camp until he has healed a bit.”

“Of course,” Athos said at once, his eyes widening as he looked at Aramis. “I did not mean to…”

“He is fine,” D’Artagnan assured him before he could overly panic. “As I said, I do not think riding will pose too much of a hardship. But these things can be hard to judge sometimes and I cannot see inside of him. He will, of course, tell us if he is in undue pain. Isn’t that right, Little One?”

“Of course, Master,” Aramis agreed immediately. “My pain hurts my brothers. I would not do that to them without good cause.”

“Thank you,” D’Artagnan said and leaned forward to kiss him on the forehead. He set the basin aside and gathered the used rags. He then took one of the clean towels and spread it out over the damp spots on the bed. “I am afraid this will have to do for the night. You three get comfortable. I shall take care of this and be back in a moment. Porthos, if you do not mind, I would prefer the outside tonight.”

“Whelp?” Porthos questioned, frowning.

“You may have the middle as always, D’Artagnan,” Athos told him.

“I thank you kindly, but I would prefer the outside,” he replied. “If this troubles you, I can take the other room just as easily.”

“No,” Porthos said at once, trying hard not to growl. “Outside’s fine for tonight.” He saw Athos open his mouth to argue and shot him a look that had him snapping his mouth closed once more.

Athos waited until D’Artagnan had left to empty the basin before speaking. “It would seem I have erred,” he said.

“I did not think…” Aramis began.

“None of us did, obviously,” Porthos cut him off. “And I don’t think he’s mad. Just… hurt, maybe. He’s been waiting for you and to have to watch you with Aramis like that…”

“Was cruel,” Athos supplied.

“It was my choice,” D’Artagnan said as he returned to the room. “I could have said no. I could have left the room. I chose to do neither of those things.”

“Can I ask why you did not?” Athos asked.

“Because I would never deny you or Aramis anything,” D’Artagnan replied. “And Aramis was too far under for me to be comfortable leaving him, even with the two of you. I do not mean that as any sort of insult to you, but you may not have realized if he became distressed and he was not in any fit state to let you know on his own.”

“I am sorry, Master,” Aramis said softly, ashamed that he had caused D’Artagnan to stay and witness something that was obviously painful for him.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Little One,” D’Artagnan told him. “My choice, remember? And I will *never* begrudge you your happiness. Not with Porthos. Not with Athos. Not with anyone. Not even Constance, though our brothers rather worry that I will.”

“Master?” Aramis asked, confused.

“That is a talk for another time, love. I was merely illustrating a point,” D’Artagnan told him. “And I am taking the outside, not because I am angry or upset or hurt, though if I am honest, I am a bit upset but it is more with myself than anyone else. It is because the three of you have had a very intense night and you still need to be able to touch. I would be in the way of that.”

“You are never in the way,” Porthos objected.

“I would be this time,” D’Artagnan insisted. “It’s late. Let us try to get some sleep before we must be on our way in the morning.”

“Very well,” Athos acquiesced. He knew they still had things to discuss but the boy was right. It was late and they had a mission to head out for in the morning. There would be plenty of time to talk this out while they rode. He would make sure of it.


	13. Chapter 13

Part 13

The next morning when Porthos awoke he was not surprised to find the Whelp already up and gone from their bed. He looked across Aramis to Athos and found him already awake and frowning. “Any idea how long he’s been gone?” Porthos asked quietly.

“No,” Athos replied. “I have only been awake a short time but he was already gone from the room.”

“He left about an hour ago,” Aramis said, opening his eyes. “I felt him leave the bed. It was clear he wished some time to himself so I did not say anything. He is probably just downstairs with Constance helping prepare breakfast before we must head out.”

“I am sorry,” Athos told them both. “I did not mean for this. I was not thinking.”

“None of us were,” Porthos replied.

“As D’Artagnan said last night, you have nothing to apologize for,” Aramis told him. “He agreed to it. He could have said no. He could have put a stop to it at any time. He chose not to do so. You cannot blame yourself for a decision he made.”

“I should never have put him in such a position to begin with,” Athos argued. “I knew he was… was waiting for me to be ready, that he was giving me time and…”

“Please stop,” D’Artagnan said softly as he pushed the door to their room open and stepped inside. “As Aramis pointed out, the decision was mine. I could have easily prevented all of this by simply saying I wished him used in another manner. Any difficulties I have dealing with the situation are due to my own shortcomings. You did nothing wrong and I will not see you blaming yourselves. I asked you to give him pleasure, to make last night good for him. You did so and I thank you for that. Now, Constance has prepared us some breakfast as well as some food to take with us. I suggest you get dressed so we can eat and get under way.”

They watched as D’Artagnan turned and left the room, presumably heading back downstairs to the kitchen. They could all tell that he was still bothered by what had occurred but it was hard to tell exactly what was troubling him about it. 

“We should do as he says,” Aramis said after a moment. 

“He will be alright, love,” Porthos told him, pulling Aramis into his arms and holding him. “We’ll make sure of it if we have to hold him down and force him to talk to us.”

“I am not sure that approach will work in this instance,” Aramis said as he returned Porthos’ embrace.

“Do you think it is just that he had to watch what he has been wanting himself for so long?” Athos asked.

“I think that is part of it,” Aramis replied as he pulled back. “But I think there is more to it than that. I do not know if he is merely angry with himself for his reaction or what, but I know it is not just… just jealousy that drives this.”

“I would not think it something so petty as jealousy, love,” Porthos said. 

“You know what I mean,” Aramis replied. “The coveting of something that someone else has. He would never begrudge us something. Not any of us. Even if he himself had to go without it. That is simply not his way.”

“You are right in that,” Athos agreed. “He has never been one to put his own wants above those of others, especially those of ours. I cannot see him doing so in this. Perhaps it was just the unexpectedness of it and the… the hurt. For I do think it hurt him, at least to some extent.”

“I think you are right there,” Porthos said. “I think the fact that it did hurt took him by surprise and that may be what he’s having such a hard time dealing with.”

“Perhaps,” Athos mused. “In any event, let us get dressed before he comes looking for us once more. We will have time on the road to work this out between us.”

They ate a quick breakfast and thanked Constance for the food she had packed up for them to take for later then headed toward the garrison. Aramis wanted to check on his experiments before they left. He did not expect anything to have changed but it would be remiss of him to go off without at least checking them first.

The sun was just starting to rise so the garrison courtyard was empty save for the sentries. They could see a light in the Captain’s window indicating he was in but there did not appear to be anyone else about yet. Aramis headed directly to his laboratory but stopped a few feet from it. There, hanging on the door, a sign had been nailed up. It read “Le Laboratoire d'Aramis”.

“Something wrong?” Athos said as he came up behind him. He had sent Porthos and D’Artagnan on to get the horses ready while he went with Aramis to check on his tests.

Aramis pointed to the sign nailed over the door. “Well at least we have no worries about someone mistaking it for the munitions shed,” he sighed.

Athos clapped him on the shoulder. “Come. Let us check what you need to so we can join the others and be on our way.”

Aramis shook his head and unlocked the small building. Athos was right. They needed to be on their way. Opening the door wide to let in as much early morning light as possible, Aramis began to frown. He stepped into the room and over to the table, peering down at the vials. Of the four different vials, the one with plain water was a murky reddish-brown as expected. The one that had Sacramental wine in it was the same color as it had been as well. However the other two vials were not the same. 

The vials that had Holy Water and bits of Consecrated Host in them had turned a dark, almost inky black color. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Athos step forward and lean down to get a better look as well. Aramis shoved him back hard. “Do not touch them,” he said sharply.

“What is wrong?” Athos asked.

“Those two had Holy Water and bits of the Host in them. They were clear, like plain water with the bits of grass in them when Treville and I left them yesterday. This… this should not be.”

“Is there anything natural that might cause this?” Athos asked.

“Not that is known to me,” Aramis said. “Step outside.”

“Not without you,” Athos said at once.

“I am right behind you, brother,” Aramis assured him.

Reluctantly, Athos did as he was bid and was relieved when Aramis followed behind him. He watched as Aramis carefully locked the room back up then turned and headed straight for Treville’s office. Athos followed close on his heels, wanting to lend whatever support he could to his shaken brother.

Aramis did not bother knocking but walked directly into the Captain’s office causing the man’s head to jerk up and his hand to move instinctively toward the pistol he kept in his desk before he registered who had come barging in on him.

“For the love of God,” he snapped, getting to his feet and preparing to tear into Aramis. When he saw the look on the man’s face, however, he paused. “What is it? What’s happened?”

“The experiments,” Aramis began, removing his hat and running a hand through his hair nervously. 

“What about them?” Treville asked just then noticing that Athos had followed Aramis into his office.

“Two of them have blackened, as if charred by fire,” Aramis told him. “Has anyone been in the room since we locked it yesterday?”

“No one,” Treville told him. “There are only two keys and you and I have them. I checked the lock myself before leaving last night and it was secure.”

“Who hung the sign?” Athos asked calmly.

“I did,” Treville said, grinning slightly. “I thought it would help to keep the curious at bay. Anything Aramis is experimenting with the men should have enough sense to want to stay clear of.”

“Indeed,” Athos replied with a tilt of his head.

“So what do we do?” Treville asked turning his attention back to Aramis. “I can dispose of the vials…”

“No!” Aramis shouted then took a deep breath. “No, Sir. I am not sure how to do that safely as of yet so I would rather you did not attempt to. Leave the building locked up for now.”

“I can post a guard to ensure no one enters,” Treville offered.

“I would prefer not to have anyone that close to it in all honesty,” Aramis replied. “As you said, the sign should be enough to deter the curious.”

“Very well. I’ll keep a weather eye on it and consult with Father Michel while you are gone just in case.”

“Ah, yes. That is a good idea,” Aramis said. “He is aware of what I was planning so he may be of some help in this.”

“Alright,” Treville said. “You two best get going before the others come looking for you. Don’t worry about things here. I’ll keep an eye on things and if needs must, bring in the good Father to help me get it sorted.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Aramis said.

“Watch yourselves, gentlemen.”

“You as well, Sir,” Athos replied.

They found their brothers waiting for them in front of the stables. They were already mounted and holding their horses for them. “What took you so long?” Porthos asked as they mounted up.

“Aramis’ experiments were not as he expected them to be,” Athos replied.

“They weren’t?” D’Artagnan replied worriedly.

“No,” Aramis said grimly. “They were not. However, I do not as yet know what it might mean.”

“The Captain will keep an eye on things here while we are gone,” Athos said. “Let us be off. I am anxious to speak to the residents of Chateau de Bathory. Perhaps they can shed some light on all of this.”

They pushed harder this time, all of them anxious to get back to the investigation but none more so than Aramis. When midday came, Athos forced him to stop even though he wanted to keep going. “Aramis, we will not make the journey in a day, no matter how hard we push the horses,” Athos told him. “And even if we did, it would be too late for us to do anything when we arrived. I know you are worried for the missing girls. We are as well, brother. But we will do them no good if the same fate befalls us.”

“I know,” Aramis said, hanging his head. “I am sorry. When I think of those girls… some of them are mere children…”

“Do not apologize for caring,” Athos told him as he put his hand to the back of Aramis’ neck and pulled his head down to rest on his shoulder. “It is one of the things I love so very much about you. You care for all those around you, whether they are deserving of such are or not. But we *must* be cautious in this. We cannot tip our hand and we do not as yet know how much influence these nobles might have. We cannot afford to make any more enemies if we can avoid it.”

“I hear you, brother,” Aramis replied. “I do not particularly care for what you are saying, but I hear you and I will heed your words. As much as I am able to at any rate.”

“That is all I ask,” Athos said. He squeezed Aramis’ neck one last time then let him go and stepped back. When he did, he saw that Porthos and D’Artagnan stood just a few feet behind Aramis watching them nervously.

“Is everything alright?” D’Artagnan asked, unable to keep quiet any longer.

“All is well,” Aramis said as he turned around. “I am sorry to have worried everyone. I let my concern for the missing girls guide my actions. I will try not to do so again.”

“We understand, brother,” Porthos told him. “Come on, let’s eat and rest a bit then we can get under way again.”

Rather than try to find another suitable place, they decided to make camp in the same place they had on the previous trip. It meant stopping earlier than necessary because of how hard they had pushed that morning but they did not mind. The horses could use the rest and, in truth, so could Aramis. Now that he was not focusing on the missing girls so much, the aches and pains from the previous night’s activities were making themselves felt rather insistently. 

“Are you alright?” D’Artagnan asked. He had seen Aramis nearly stumble when he alit from his horse and had moved to his side instantly. 

“I am fine,” Aramis said blushing furiously. He had looked around then but only D’Artagnan had noticed his near fall. “I am… a bit sore still. That is all. It is nothing to worry about.”

D’Artagnan frowned then his eyes widened in understanding. In everything that had happened that morning he had forgotten and he knew the others had forgotten as well. “You should have said something,” he admonished gently. “We would have stopped much sooner.”

“I did not realize it at first,” Aramis told him. “I was worried about the findings at the garrison then I was worried about the girls. Once we slowed down after noon meal, though…”

“You promised you would tell me if you were hurting too much, Little One.”

“I would have if it had been too much,” Aramis replied. “It was uncomfortable and yes, a few times it was actually painful but those times never lasted long enough for me to voice a complaint. I am fine, Master. Sore, yes, but it is nothing I cannot endure.”

“I do not wish you to have to *endure*,” D’Artagnan told him.

“We knew I would be sore,” Aramis reminded him. “And it was my own fault for setting such a hard pace this morning.”

“What’s going on?” Porthos asked. He and Athos had started getting the camp set up and had expected to see Aramis setting up to do his prayers. When that did not happen, they had looked around and spotted him and the Whelp having a rather intense conversation by the horses.

“Nothing,” Aramis said, not wanting to worry the others.

“Why do I not think that is entirely true?” Athos asked quirking an eyebrow expectantly.

“Because it is not,” D’Artagnan replied. He saw Aramis shoot him an imploring look and squeezed his arm. “It is alright, Little One. Why don’t you go and see to your devotions. I will explain things to our brothers.”

“I… alright,” Aramis sighed. He turned and grabbed his saddle bags from his horse and made his way to a place within the camp where he would be out of the way of the others.

“If he does not want you to tell us,” Porthos began.

“Remind you,” D’Artagnan corrected.

“Remind us of what?” Athos asked.

“Last night,” D’Artagnan replied.

“Last night?” Athos repeated then blushed when he remembered. He closed his eyes and shook his head, cursing Aramis’ stubbornness in his head. 

Porthos seemed to remember at the same time, if his snarled curse was anything to go by. “How much pain is he in?” Porthos asked through gritted teeth.

“He says he is more sore than anything else,” D’Artagnan told them. “Though he did nearly stumble when he dismounted.”

“Why didn’t he say anything?” Athos asked.

“He said he did not realize it himself until after we had rested and set out again. His mind too preoccupied with other things. Then, he said it was not bad enough to speak up about most of the time.”

“Most of the time,” Porthos repeated flatly, the disgust in his voice quite clear.

“To be fair, he said that whenever he got ready to speak up about it, it would abate.”

“You believe him about that?” Athos asked, knowing full well how much Aramis tended to underplay his own injuries.

“Yes,” D’Artagnan replied firmly. “He promised he would speak up if it was bad. He knows his pain hurts us and he would never do that intentionally so I believe him. I would, however, like to examine him and set a more moderate pace for tomorrow.”

“Agreed,” Athos said. 

“Porthos,” D’Artagnan called. He could see that the man was still visibly upset and he needed to do something about that before Aramis saw it. “You are angry.”

“Yes,” Porthos replied shortly. 

“You should not be,” D’Artagnan told him calmly. When Porthos opened his mouth to reply, he held his hand up forestalling him. “He wanted last night just as much as you did, just as much as Athos did. Do not take that from him. Do not spoil it for him now. By all means comfort and coddle and cosset him but do *not* make him feel guilty. Do you understand?”

Porthos looked at the boy standing in front of him practically staring him down and had never felt prouder of the lad. “Yeah,” he said, uncurling his fists and breathing out slowly. “I just… I don’t like hurting him.”

“You didn’t,” D’Artagnan told him. “He is sore. He has a few bruises. He gets hurt worse than that training though the injuries tend to be in rather different areas.”

“Alright, Whelp, I surrender already,” Porthos laughed. 

They went back to setting up the camp then. D’Artagnan saw to the horses while Athos and Porthos set up the rest of the camp. Aramis was still in the midst of his devotions when they finished. Normally, he would have been done by now but they were not overly surprised given recent events. Still, D’Artagnan kept a careful eye on him as he began putting together their supper. 

“I’d suggest hunting since it’s still early, but I really don’t want any of us out of sight,” Athos said as he sat down next to D’Artagnan.

“You and Porthos could go and I could stay here with Aramis,” he offered. “We’d be in pairs at least.”

He thought about it for a minute then shook his head. “No. We have plenty of provisions and we can get more if we need to. I’d rather not chance it.”

“You do not feel safe here?” D’Artagnan asked.

“It is not that,” Athos replied. “Rather… I can feel eyes on me. Can you not?”

“I feel something,” D’Artagnan agreed. “I cannot say for sure what. And the horses are nervous.”

“Yes,” Athos nodded, his lips set in a tight line. “Keep a close watch on Aramis while he is preoccupied. He does not always notice his surroundings during such times, even more so when he is within camp and doing so.”

“I always do,” D’Artagnan told him honestly.

That made Athos smile. “I know, lad,” he said. “That alone eases me more than you can know.”

D’Artagnan turned his attention back to preparing their meal, still keeping one eye on Aramis as he did so. He could tell there was something else Athos wanted to say but he was not sure he was ready to hear whatever it was. “Where has Porthos gotten to?” he asked, hoping to deter the conversation before it ever got started.

Athos looked about, quickly scanning their campsite. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw him sitting a little ways away, attempting to give them what privacy he could. “He is just over there,” he said, motioning with his head in Porthos’ direction. 

“Ah,” D’Artagnan replied noncommittally.

“D’Artagnan,” Athos called softly, trying to draw his attention more fully. “I would speak with you if you do not mind it.”

D’Artagnan stopped what he was doing and gathered as much of his dignity around himself as he could manage. “If this is about last night there is nothing to discuss. Unless it is in regard to Aramis, of course.”

“I did not mean to hurt you,” Athos pressed on. 

“You did not,” D’Artagnan replied.

“Please do not lie to me,” Athos asked him.

“You did not hurt me,” D’Artagnan repeated. “As I have already stated, I agreed to it, I allowed it to happen and I remained to watch it. That I am… am upset by it now is… is my problem. I have no right to make it yours after the fact.”

“You have every right,” Athos insisted. “We… I acted with callous disregard for your feelings. I did not even think… And now you are paying the price. Again. How many times will you bear the hurts your brothers cause you without a word of complaint?”

“You did no such thing,” D’Artagnan told him, throwing down the knife he had been using angrily. “You did not think. We have all been guilty of that and shall be again. Do you truly think me so faithless that I would abandon my brothers because my feelings were hurt?”

“What is going on here?” Aramis asked. He had finished his devotions to find D’Artagnan and Athos in a rather heated conversation. When he had looked to Porthos he had mouthed the words “last night” to him. 

“Nothing,” D’Artagnan said as he struggled to get his emotions back under control.

“D’Artagnan, look at me,” Aramis said as he knelt down next to him. He waited until D’Artagnan looked up at him then pulled him into his arms and held him. He could feel fine tremors running through the younger man and tightened his grip.

“It is alright, love,” Aramis said softly. “Whatever it is, it is alright. Or will be for we shall make it that way. Is this about me or about Athos? I rather think it must be about Athos for you to be upset in this manner.”

“I do not want his apology,” D’Artagnan said, his voice coming out tight and angry. “He did nothing I did not agree to. That it upset me is neither his fault nor his responsibility.”

“D’Artagnan, he loves you,” Aramis told him. “Regardless of whether anyone is to blame or not, your pain still cuts him.” He felt D’Artagnan go still in his arms as his words sank in. He continued to hold him, rubbing one hand up and down his back while the other held his head to his shoulder much the same way Athos had done to him earlier that day.

Porthos had come over when Aramis had taken D’Artagnan into his arms and sat down next to Athos. He put his arm around his lover and pulled him into his side. “You alright?”

“I did not mean for this,” Athos whispered.

“I know,” Porthos whispered back. “None of us did. Whelp knows that, too. It’s one of the reasons this is so hard on him, I think. He’s got no one to be mad at so he ends up mad at himself.”

“I have not been so utterly selfish in a very long time,” Athos said. “That I have done so with him galls me.”

“Yeah, me too,” Porthos replied. “I feel like I took something from him that I shouldn’t have.”

“I would recommend you not voicing that sentiment to him,” Athos warned. “He will not take it well, I assure you.”

“No, probably not,” Porthos agreed. “Aramis will talk some sense into him, though.”

“Let us hope.”

“Do you wish me to make them go?” Aramis asked him, speaking softly enough so only D’Artagnan could hear him.

“No,” D’Artagnan whispered back. “It’s not safe to be separated here.”

“I would not send them far,” Aramis told him. “But they do not have to be right on top of us either.”

D’Artagnan hesitated a moment then nodded. He just needed a few minutes alone to get himself back under control. Then he could attempt to deal with Athos without saying something he would end up regretting.

“Porthos, would you and Athos be so kind as check on the horses for us?” Aramis asked, giving the two men a pointed look. He felt D’Artagnan stiffen in his arms and tightened his grip. He saw Athos open his mouth as if to protest and narrowed his eyes. Athos wisely closed his mouth and nodded instead as he and Porthos rose to do as they were asked. 

“Thank you,” D’Artagnan said once he heard their footsteps retreat. He pulled back from Aramis and regarded him for a moment. “I guess I’m not the only one that can be a bit over-protective.”

“There was nothing over about that,” Aramis replied. “And you do realize that is alright to be angry at Athos about last night, do you not?”

“I have no…”

“You have every right,” Aramis interrupted before D’Artagnan could finish speaking. “You may have agreed to it but… but he had no right to ask such a thing of you in the first place. Neither did Porthos. Neither did I and for that, I am so very sorry.”

“You were pretty far under, Aramis,” D’Artagnan told him. “And even that far down you still had the presence of mind to question it. They… they did not even…”

“No, no they did not,” Aramis said softly. “And you have every right to be angry about that.”

D’Artagnan thought about that. He thought about the fact that they had not even hesitated. In fact, they had not even asked him. Aramis was the one who had asked if it was permissible. They would not have even bothered with that much. 

“I see you are considering last night’s events in a somewhat different light now,” Aramis said. “There is one more thing I would like to add, if I may.”

“Go ahead,” D’Artagnan said.

“I realize that I was under and that I did ask permission,” Aramis said. “However, if you feel that I behaved incorrectly, that you are unhappy with what I allowed to occur, then I will gladly accept whatever punishment you feel appropriate.”

“Aramis, no,” D’Artagnan said.

“Think on it,” Aramis said, refusing to let D’Artagnan dismiss it out of hand. “I know I did not disobey but my actions have not only distressed you but have caused you pain. I… I do not ever wish to be the cause of your pain.”

“I know that,” D’Artagnan told him. “My Little One would never do anything to hurt me. Neither would my little slut. Neither would my Aramis. For they are all mine in one way or another and I cherish all of them, each of your selves, every mask you wear. I will think on it. But tell me, is this something you need in order to let what happened go?”

“I do not know,” Aramis admitted. “I think that will depend on everything else. If you can find a resolution with Athos and Porthos that eases your pain then probably not. But as long as you are still hurting over this, I will still feel responsible for it to a degree.”

“I will do my best to set things right with them,” D’Artagnan told him. “I do not want you feeling guilty for what happened. And I know you did not say that to try to manipulate me. You would not do that to me.”

“No, I would not. I do love you, D’Artagnan. As do they.”

“I know. Now help me with this or we will be eating nothing but bread and cheese tonight.”

When Porthos and Athos returned from checking the horses they found Aramis and D’Artagnan just finishing putting vegetables into a pot for a stew. They saw his shoulders tense slightly at their approach then relax. They paused for a moment, considering keeping their distance then moved to their usual places with Athos next to D’Artagnan and Porthos beside Aramis. Athos could still feel eyes on him and would not take a chance here no matter how upset with him D’Artagnan was.

“You do not have to take yourselves off,” D’Artagnan told them once they were seated. “I would have you where I can see you are safe.”

“D’Artagnan…” Athos began then stopped, unsure what he could really say at this point.

“I am upset with you,” D’Artagnan said, deciding to simply get his feeling out in the open so they could move past them. “I am hurt by your disregard for me. That of both you and Porthos to be completely honest. Aramis was so too far under to make a sound decision at that point. The fact that he alone questioned what you proposed… says a very great deal about your regard for me.”

Love, no,” Athos said, aghast. “That… please do not think that.”

“How can I think anything else?” D’Artagnan asked.

“The fact is, you made the decision in the heat of the moment without regard for me at all. You did not look to me. You did not consider me at all. And that… hurts.”

“I am so sorry,”Athos said miserably, knowing D’Artagnan was right. 

“As am I, lad,” Porthos added.

“Yes, I know,” D’Artagnan replied then shrugged. “We are men. We make mistakes. It is our nature. I am sure we will make many more. Do not let this one trouble you overly much.”

“D’Artagnan…” Aramis said softly. He could tell their youngest was growing upset again. He always got rather flippant whenever he was hurting. It was one of his defense mechanisms, the same way his own barbs grew more acidic. 

“My apologies,” he said softly. “I did not mean to seem harsh. Forgive me, brothers.”

“You are not the one who once again needs seek forgiveness, lad,” Porthos replied quietly. 

By mutual agreement they let the subject drop. Aramis hoped a little time would help dull the pain some for the lad and make it easier for him to talk about. Once he was able to actually talk about it with Athos he had no doubt they would be able to move past it. It was a misstep, to be sure, but that was all it was. And he had not been wrong. They were men. Very fallible men. They were bound to make mistakes. It was the way God had designed them after all.

“There is something I would like to talk to you all about but I am not sure if tonight is the time now,” Aramis said. They had finished eating a short while ago and were just cleaning up for the night. It was early yet, leaving them a few hours before they would set the first watch and turn in for the night.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” D’Artagnan asked. “You do not have to do so because of me.”

“I know,” Aramis told him. “But it is time and I do not want to do it at home. I am not at all sure I would have Constance know of this and if I tell them of it there she would most assuredly find out.”

“As you wish then, Little One,” D’Artagnan said as he stood and walked over to sit back down right next to Aramis. He was close enough that their shoulders touched and he took Aramis’ hand in his and held it.

“Thank you, Master,” Aramis said softly, squeezing back. He looked at Athos and Porthos then and took a deep breath. “You have wanted to know about the secrets I have been keeping about my past. I have shared some of it with D’Artagnan already. Not quite all, but a goodly part of it. I would share that with you now if you still wish to know of it.”

“We do,” Athos said at once.

“I warn you, it is… unpleasant,” Aramis told them. “And it will change the way you look at me.”

“It will not,” Porthos told him.

“It will, brother,” Aramis said sadly. “At least for a while, until you are able to reconcile what I have told you with the man you think you know. You will not be able to help it.”

“Did it change the way D’Artagnan saw you?” Athos asked.

“No,” Aramis replied with a soft smile. “But D’Artagnan is not like most men. D’Artagnan accepts me for me. Completely and utterly. He accepts all the parts of me. The man, the Musketeer, the boy, the whore, all of them. Can either of you truly say the same?”

“I… No,” Athos replied, looking away.

“It is alright,” Aramis said. “I do not blame you. Very, very few could. But it is how I knew he would not see me any differently if I told him. And it was still terribly difficult for me to tell him of this even knowing he would still see me the same as always. Can you understand now why I have been so reluctant to tell you?”

“Yeah. Yeah, we get it,” Porthos said. He did not like it, but he did understand it. “But you are ready to tell us now?”

“Yes,” Aramis said. “It is time. Past time, really.”

“Then tell us and let us prove ourselves to you,” Athos said. “Let us prove ourselves to the both of you.”

Slowly, Aramis began to tell them. He told them about the mistress he had taken and her penchant for whipping him. He told them about her husband bursting in and finding him, about being bound to the chair, unable to break free, watching helplessly as she was thrown to the floor and bound. He looked down when he told them of being whipped by the man, how the pain of the lashing had been so much greater than anything he had experienced before. 

He told them about the choice he had been given – himself or his mistress under the lash – and how he had chosen to endure the lash himself rather than see her subjected to it. He felt D’Artagnan squeeze his hand tightly when he spoke of being unable to hold his cries inside any longer. 

Aramis had to stop for a moment and gather himself when he began to tell them of begging the man for mercy. When he finally managed to say it, the sound that tore its way from Porthos had his head snapping up in alarm. His eyes widened as he looked at his lover sitting across from him. Athos was holding the bigger man, rubbing soothing circles in his back as he tried to calm him. 

“Porthos?” Aramis called, unsure what to do or say that might help.

“I’m alright,” Porthos said after a moment. He forced himself to sit back but kept a firm grip on Athos’ hand. “Keep going. Please, you need to finish this.”

Aramis nodded and picked up where he had left off, telling them of begging the man to stop and how he had laughed at that and given him a choice once more. Again, Aramis had chosen to endure the lash himself rather than see his mistress subjected to it. 

“My resolve, however, was short-lived,” Aramis told them. “I could not… I think I endured another dozen or so lashes before… She cursed me, calling me a coward and a disgrace. She begged me not to let him hurt her. I… I don’t really remember things too clearly. I think I tried to take it back, but I cannot be sure.”

Aramis continued, telling them how the man had beaten his wife and all the things he had been in too much pain to realize at the time – that the blows were nowhere near as powerful, that her pain was feigned. 

“She was in on it with him and I was merely their entertainment,” Aramis said, his voice flat and dull. He shuddered as he remembered it all, especially the smile on her face as she had looked down at him, bloody and beaten. 

“Do you need me to finish it?” D’Artagnan asked him when he fell silent for a time.

“No,” Aramis said, his voice strangled. “I shall do it. I just need a moment.”

“Take all the time you need, love,” D’Artagnan told him. “I am so very proud of you. You are the strongest man I have ever known and I love you with all my heart and soul. Never forget that.”

Aramis looked at D’Artagnan and saw nothing but love and acceptance in his eyes. Taking another slow, deep breath, he began the last part of his tale. “When I realized she was in on it with him, that it had all been a ruse on her part, I started to curse them. That’s when he grabbed me by the hair and jerked my head back once more. I did manage to close my eyes and mouth before he…”

“Aramis?” Athos said worry coloring his voice.

Aramis swallowed down the bile that had risen in his throat. “Before he began to urinate on me,” he finished. This time Porthos’ sound of dismay did not surprise him as much and he was able to continue. He told them of having his hand cut free and the pair leaving then making his way home to clean and bandage his wounds. 

“After that, I simply had to avoid letting Porthos clap me on the back until I was healed up,” he finished.

“Why did you not tell us?” Athos asked. “Did you think we would not understand? That we would turn from you?”

“I could not,” Aramis told him. Even now, he could not bring himself to look at them, too afraid of seeing disgust in their eyes. 

“Did we fail you so badly, brother?” Porthos asked.

“What?” Aramis gasped, his head jerking up to stare at the man.

“That you felt you could not come to us,” Porthos explained. “That you felt we would judge you rather than seek those monsters out and make them pay for what they had done to you.”

“No,” Aramis told him. “Not that. Never that. It… it was my own shame. My own… dishonor… that kept me from telling you.”

“What bloody dishonor?” Porthos snarled. 

“Peace, Porthos,” Athos said, trying to calm the man. Aramis was upset enough without Porthos’ temper making matters worse.

“He allowed a woman to be whipped in his place, Porthos,” D’Artagnan explained, saving Aramis from having to do so. “It does not matter to him that she was his accomplice. He did not know that at the time.”

“Aramis...” Athos said with exasperation. “You did not act with dishonor. We are but men. We can only endure so much.”

“And if it were you?” Aramis asked. “Would you have chosen to let another be whipped in your place?”

“That probably depends on who the other was,” Athos replied. 

Aramis stared at him agape. “You truly mean that,” he said.

“I do,” Athos replied. “Were it my mistress, assuming I were to have such a thing, I am unsure. Were it one of the three of you, never. Were is some person I did not know, probably. These things are impossible to say one way or another until one is in that position. But every man has his breaking point. Every man.”

“I wish you would have told us,” Porthos said.

“I could not. I could barely live with what I had done,” Aramis tried to explain. “To see any censure at all in your eyes would have done me in completely.”

“We would not…”

“You cannot say that, Porthos,” Athos told him.

“What?” Porthos snapped.

“It was a long time ago and we were not as close then,” Athos explained. “We did not know each other as well. You cannot say what you would or would not have done. Neither can I. Not with any certainty. But we do not look at you any differently now, brother.”

“Yes, you do,” Aramis told him as gently as he could. “You do not think you do, but you do all the same. It is in little ways and it will pass in due time but it is true.”

“How?” Porthos demanded.

“For one, if D’Artagnan were to even suggest disciplining me right now you would not stand for it,” Aramis said.

“You’re bloody right I wouldn’t stand for it!” Porthos spat, the hand not holding onto Athos’ clenching into a fist.

“Thank you for illustrating my point, love,” Aramis said calmly. “You should also know that that incident was but the first, it was not the only one.”

“What are you saying?” Athos asked.

“That I had sought out such treatment afterward from others,” Aramis explained as calmly as he could. This he had not even talked over with D’Artagnan before and he was not sure what kind of reaction to expect from any of them.

“I never went back to them,” Aramis said. “Nor did I allow myself to be bound. But I did allow myself to be whipped. In fact, I specifically requested it on multiple occasions. Mostly when I felt I had… erred in some way and needed some sort of penance. Sometimes it was after I had encountered my former mistress or her husband in the market or square. Those times I normally asked to be caned rather than whipped. 

“I admit I was not exactly careful when I did this. I tried to hold out until I knew I would have the next day off duty to recuperate. If I was not able, I would go out of my way to avoid the pair of you for a day or so. Just until my back was sufficiently healed so that I would not wince should Porthos grip me.”

“You will not seek this out any longer,” D’Artagnan said. It was not a question and Aramis nodded his agreement. “You will come to me if you are in need of this or anything like this.”

“Yes, Master. Of course,” Aramis agreed. “I would prefer never to have anyone’s hands on me but those of my brothers’.”

“If you think you’re taking a whip or a cane to him, boy…” Porthos growled.

“That is not up to you, Porthos,” Athos said surprising all of them. “Do not mistake me, I do not like it any more than you, but it is not your place or mine to forbid Aramis something he feels he needs.”

“It is if it hurts him,” Porthos argued.

“Enough,” Aramis snapped furiously. “This, brother, is why I did not want to tell you at all. Now, rather than see me as your brother, as your equal, you see me as too weak, too compromised to decide my own fate.”

“Little One, stop,” D’Artagnan told him. “You knew they would need time to come to grips with this. They are upset and angry, but not with you. You will not hold this against them. Athos, I think it might be a good idea if Aramis takes first watch tonight.”

“Yes,” Athos agreed. “And Porthos second I think. That should give everyone enough time to calm down and digest everything that has been discussed.”

“Agreed,” D’Artagnan replied.


	14. Chapter 14

Part 14

By the time D’Artagnan’s turn for watch came, he was more than ready for a little time to himself. It was not that he minded time in Athos’ company, but he could tell his brother yearned to talk to him again about what had happened and he simply was not up to it. Not now. Not after Aramis’ revelations. 

All those feelings of anger and rage had come surging back as he had listened to Aramis recount his tale for the others. He had wanted nothing more than to pull him into his arms and vow to him that he would make them pay for what they had done to him, but he knew Aramis did not want to hear that. For as much comfort as he drew from D’Artagnan’s desire for bloody vengeance in his name, he did not want him to risk himself in such a way. And while he could understand that, he was not at all sure he could live with himself if he simply allowed these people to continue to walk free. 

Not and still look his lover in the eyes. 

Not and still call himself his Master.

When his watch ended, D’Artagnan returned to his bedroll, intent on getting a few more hours of sleep before they had to break camp. He had caught Athos’ concerned glance as they had traded places but he had brushed it off. It was not as if he could tell him, after all. While Athos would understand his desire for vengeance in Aramis’ name, he would not understand his *need* for it. Besides, he was safer not knowing. As sleep took him, the last thing D’Artagnan thought of was just what he planned to do to a certain couple once he got his hands on them. 

D’Artagnan moaned in his sleep and his hands balled into fists. _He stormed through the front door and into the house. He strode from room to room until, at last, he found what he was looking for. When he kicked the door in, he froze in horror. Aramis was tied naked over a chair, his back striped and bloody._

“No,” D’Artagnan groaned in his sleep, twisting on his bedroll as if trying to turn away from something. His hands opened and closed as if grasping. _The dream shimmered and shifted suddenly. When he looked down, D’Artagnan was the one with the whip in his hand standing over the pair of them. Both the man and his wife were tied down just as Aramis had been. Both of their backs were in bloody ruins thanks the whip in his hand. Both of them were sobbing and begging for mercy, begging him to stop, promising him anything if he would just let them go._

_“Alright,” D’Artagnan heard himself say. “I can be merciful. Turn your head this way Monsieur so that you can watch my mercy.” He stepped over to the man’s wife then and jerked her head back roughly. Before either of them could do more than gasp, he drew out his dagger and slit her throat in one fluid motion then dropped her head back down. When her husband made to turn his head away, D’Artagnan snarled and stepped over to him. Twisting his hand in his hair, he forced him to watch as his wife died before his eyes._

_Only when she was dead did he pull the man’s head back as he had done hers. Taking his dagger, he slashed his throat as well. As he sank the blade into the man’s neck, the door to the room burst open and Athos and Porthos spilled into the room. They froze in shock at the sight before them, looking from D’Artagnan to the couple then back again._

_“My God, what have you done?” Athos whispered as he stared at his brother in horror._

_“I had to,” D’Artagnan tried to explain. “They would never have left him be in peace. I was protecting him from these monsters.”_

_Athos looked at him with such sadness in his eyes then slowly nodded. “And we must now protect him from the monster you have become,” he said. D’Artagnan did not even notice the pistol in his hand until Athos pulled the trigger._

D’Artagnan awoke drenched in sweat choking on a scream. He glanced around quickly, making sure he had not disturbed his brothers with his nightmare. Luckily, they were still sleeping peacefully. Knowing he would not get back to sleep now, and not really wanting to try, he got up and quietly began preparing to leave. The look of regret in Athos’ eyes as he had pulled the trigger haunted him and he shivered in the early morning chill. Was that truly what he was risking? Would he be no better than those monsters if he followed through on his plans? Would he be even worse? 

“You are troubled,” Athos said a short time later as he came to sit beside the younger man. He had seen him awaken rather abruptly and then begin packing up what he could without waking the others. He was not sure what had awakened him so early but he knew whatever it was, it was not good.

“Just a dream,” D’Artagnan told him, grateful for his concern but still disturbed by the last vestiges of his nightmare. 

“I know I have harmed the trust between us,” Athos said. “But I am here for you if you need me.”

“I know,” D’Artagnan told him. He realized suddenly how dismissive that must sound and reached out to clasp Athos’ arm. “I do know, brother. I…”

“D’Artagnan? What is it?” Athos asked, worried now.

“I do not wish to tell you. I am… afraid of your censure,” D’Artagnan admitted. “Your regard, it has always been of the highest importance to me. To lose that, to fail you so completely that you would consider me a monster…”

“A monster? D’Artagnan, what is this?” Athos asked, growing alarmed by the younger man’s words.

“What are you talking about, Whelp?” Porthos asked. He and Aramis had both awoken to their companions talking. They had been content to let Athos handle it, especially if D’Artagnan was actually telling him something for once. But this was not something that either of them could simply let pass.

“Nothing,” D’Artagnan said quickly, letting go of Athos and moving to stand.

Athos’ hand shot out and grabbed his arm, stopping him. “No,” he said sternly. “Whatever this is, we get to the bottom of it now. Something has been troubling you for days and I do not mean my stupidity. You have been going off alone. You will not tell us what it is you are doing. It is not like you to be so secretive. And now, you awaken from a nightmare and speak of failing me and becoming a monster.”

Aramis moved over to his other side and put his arm around his shoulders. “Whatever it is, you can tell us. You do not have to go through it alone. There is nothing we will not help you with.”

Porthos moved to join them as well, sitting in front of D’Artagnan, offering his own support. He could see the indecision and outright fear on the boy’s face and it hurt. He was not sure if they had done something to put it there or not but it was painful to see regardless.

“You will be so angry with me,” he said softly, already knowing that he would tell them. He had no choice. Now that they knew something was wrong they would not rest until they had drawn it out of him. And, if he was honest, a part of him wanted to tell them. He had not realized how heavy a burden his vengeance was, how much it weighed on him. It was not the killing that bothered him so. It was the potential loss if his brothers found out. That was the thing that he found, in the end, he simply could not live with. He only hoped Aramis could forgive him. 

“I assure you, I will not,” Athos told him. “Neither will Aramis or Porthos. We have been worried about you for some time now. Please, whatever this is, allow us to shoulder this burden with you.”

D’Artagnan nodded then took a moment to order his thoughts, unsure at first how to begin. “I have been hunting,” he began.

“Hunting?” Porthos asked, not understanding.

“Oh no,” Aramis gasped, paling. “Oh, D’Artagnan, no. No, no, no. Do not do this. Please, I beg of you.”

“Aramis? What’s wrong?” Porthos asked, even more confused now.

Athos closed his eyes, understanding now just what D’Artagnan had meant by hunting. “He has been hunting the couple who hurt Aramis, Porthos,” Athos explained, drawing a startled noise from Porthos.

“You would *hang*, D’Artagnan,” Aramis insisted, trying to reason with him.

“I would not have been caught,” D’Artagnan argued softly.

“And when they testified against you?” Aramis asked.

D’Artagnan looked at him then, his eyes hard and cold in a way his brothers had never seen before. “They would not have testified, Aramis. They would not have been able to. Assuming their bodies were ever found in the first place.”

“You were going to kill them,” Athos stated.

“You would have me do otherwise? After what they did to him?”

“It is not our place to…”

“Fuck our place!” D’Artagnan spat angrily, glaring at Athos. “They *taunt* him, Athos. Do you know what that monster wants to do? Do you? He wants another shot at him. He wants… wants…”

“Oh, love,” Aramis whispered and pulled D’Artagnan bodily into his arms. He held him to his chest and rubbed up and down his back, soothing him as best he could. “It is alright. It will be fine. We will figure this out together. You do not have to do this alone. This is not your burden to bear.”

“You are my responsibility,” D’Artagnan replied into Aramis’ shirt.

“If this is what it drives you to then I shall lift that responsibility from you at once,” Aramis told him.

“No,” D’Artagnan said, sitting back and looking him squarely in the eyes.

“Then you will allow your brothers to help you in this,” Aramis told him. “We shall deal with… with them. But you will not throw away everything you hold dear, everything that makes you D’Artagnan for me. I will not allow it.”

“I would do anything for you,” D’Artagnan told him. “For any of you. I don’t care if it means the noose for me as long as you are finally free of them.”

Porthos made a disgusted sound and glared at D’Artagnan. “Don’t make me hit you when you’re feeling this bad, Whelp. *We* bloody care what happens to you. And we care about Aramis, too. Did you think we wouldn’t help you with this?”

“No, I knew you would. But I knew Athos would never let me kill them and I did not want you to have to… to sully yourself in such a manner. You should not have to sink to such depths.”

“But it is alright for you to do so?” Athos asked.

“One of us had to,” he shrugged. “And before you even suggest it, you know they can never be properly punished.”

“No, you are right in that much,” Athos agreed. “But there is a great deal of latitude between a legal punishment and murder, D’Artagnan. Only you were not simply speaking of assassinating them, were you?”

“No,” D’Artagnan admitted. “I…”

“Tell us the rest of it,” Athos told him, his voice taking on a stern edge that he knew the boy rarely failed to obey.

“I was going to pay them back in kind,” he answered resignedly. “I was going to do to them what they did to him and then I was going to kill them both.”

“You will not do this thing, do you hear me?” Aramis said, holding him to him as tightly as he could. “You will not. I will not lose you to petty vengeance of all things.”

“He will not,” Athos told him, leveling a look at D’Artagnan. “When we are back home, the four of us shall figure out what to do about the problem so that they are no longer able to trouble Aramis in any way. Is that agreeable?”

“Yes,” Porthos said.

D’Artagnan nodded against Aramis, not trusting himself to speak at the moment. He felt lighter for telling them but it still felt like an axe blade was poised over his neck just waiting to fall. He supposed that would happen once Athos got him alone. 

“I do not like it,” Aramis said. “I do not like you putting yourselves at risk for something that is long past and no real threat to me, but I shall abide if it keeps D’Artagnan from doing something that will get him hanged.”

“Good enough,” Athos said then softened his voice slightly. “And D’Artagnan, I would have you know, even if you had killed them both, even if we had found you covered head to toe in their blood, it would not make me turn from you. You would not have failed me. You would not have become a monster in my eyes. 

“And while I would be angry, yes, it would only be because you had put yourself in danger without us by your side,” Athos continued. “Not because you love him enough to risk your very soul for his sake. Never be afraid of my censure for it will never come.”

The sound that came from D’Artagnan was a cross between a keen and a sob and he struggled for a moment to free himself from Aramis’ arms before the man released him so that he could go to Athos. He clung to him then, letting the worst of his fears finally bleed from him as infection from a wound. 

Aramis watched the pair for a moment, relief flooding him and making him weak, before turning to regard Porthos. “May I ask you something?” he said rather formally.

“Of course,” Porthos said. “You know you don’t have to ask permission. Or… are we still not good?”

“I am not upset with you, if that is what you are asking,” Aramis said, smiling softly. “I am sorry. I am a bit thrown at the moment. I truly had not realized how upset he was by what all I had told him. I knew he wanted vengeance in my name but did not think it more than an idle fantasy.”

Porthos nodded. “Boy’s too protective by far,” he said. “Any slight to me or Athos, he feels ten-fold. Any slight to you, well, they better have a fast horse is all I can say.”

“It will get him killed if we do not manage to curb it,” Aramis said worriedly.

“We’ll keep a better eye on him, Athos and me,” Porthos promised. “We should have made him talk to us before now.”

“It is not your fault,” Aramis told him. “He is more stubborn than the three of us combined when he sets his mind to something, especially if he thinks it is for our benefit.”

“Yeah,” Porthos agreed sourly. “But what did you want to ask me?”

“Would you have gone with him if he had asked you to?” Aramis asked. He was not sure he was ready to hear Porthos’ answer but he needed to all the same.

“To kill them, you mean?” Porthos asked. When Aramis nodded, he thought for a moment then sighed. “Yeah, I would have. And I would have helped him kill them, too. I may not have let him, uh, torture them as much as he planned to, but I would have killed them.”

“My God,” Aramis gasped. “He really meant to torture them to death.”

“And they would have deserved every bit of it, too,” Porthos told him without hesitation. “The only reason I would have held him back would have been for him, not them.”

“Porthos…”

“No,” Porthos said. “Me and the Whelp agree in this. They hurt you, love. And maybe, if they had left you be afterwards, I would be able to swallow my anger down and let it go, but they didn’t do that.”

“No,” Aramis admitted ducking his head in shame. “They would see me in the market or the square and make it a point to… to come up to me, to make sure I saw them. Sometimes, if I was there with someone, they would even… even go so far as to greet me, as if we were old friends.”

“And you really wonder why we want to see them dead?” 

“No,” Aramis shook his head. “But I will not have you risk yourselves for me. Not for this. It is not worth it.”

“I have to disagree with you there, love,” Porthos said. “You are worth everything to us. And… and I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to lose my temper like that. I was upset about everything you told us and…”

“I understand,” Aramis told him. “I should not have reacted as I did either. I knew it would be difficult for you and Athos to take in. It is why I was so reluctant to tell you both. I knew it would… would change your perception of me to some degree and I did not want that.”

“We don’t see you any different,” Porthos insisted.

“You did last night,” Aramis told him. “And you still do, to some extent at least. But it will settle in the fullness of time. I will simply have to be patient until it does.”

“I know you’re a grown man and have a right to live your life the way you see fit,” Porthos said. “And I know that includes having the Whelp as your Master. Just… if you do need to have him do anything like… before, give us some warning first, okay? At least for a little while.”

“I will endeavor to do so,” Aramis agreed. 

“Are you two alright?” Athos asked when they fell silent.

“We’re good,” Porthos told him. “What about you two?”

“We are fine,” Athos replied. “D’Artagnan has promised to bring us with him before he does anything rash.”

“Excellent. I shall get to watch all of my lovers hang then,” Aramis said in exasperation.

“None of us shall hang, Aramis,” Athos promised. “Have more faith in me than that.”

“I do,” Aramis told him. “I just do not think this at all necessary.”

“Forgive us, brother, but we do,” Athos told him. “However, we shall discuss this as a family and shall take your words and objections into consideration before a decision is made. And, if you outright forbid us to act, we shall honor your wishes. We will not like it, but we will do as you say in this.”

“You would do that?” Aramis asked, surprised. He had not expected such a thing, especially from D’Artagnan but the younger man made no move to counter what Athos said.

“Yes,” Athos said succinctly.

“Thank you,” Aramis replied, humbled that his brothers would capitulate to such a degree for his sake. “I will think on what has been said and I will hear your wishes on the matter.”

“That is all we ask of you,” Athos told him. “Now, let us break camp. I am anxious to pay a visit to the Chateau de Bathory and see what we might uncover.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a bit longer to get out - sorry about that. And it went in a direction I was not expecting it to go so I have some replanning to do down the road. Hmmm.


	15. Chapter 15

Part 15

The ride to the Chateau de Bathory was a quiet one, each man lost in his own thoughts. Aramis kept close to D’Artagnan, with Porthos and Athos riding just behind them so that they might keep their youngest in sight as well. They could understand D’Artagnan’s desire for vengeance, but they also knew how dangerous it could be for they had seen the lengths people could be driven to in the name of revenge. And they had seen the ruin their actions could bring about. They had no desire to see D’Artagnan suffer such a fate.

As they rode, D’Artagnan did his best to push his worries aside. He knew he would never forgive himself if something happened to one of his brothers because he was not paying close enough attention. Besides, there was little to be done for it. Athos had said they would discuss Aramis’ tormentors once they were home and make a decision as a family as to how to proceed. He knew Aramis wanted them to simply let the matter drop but he could not. Not as long as they continued to be a threat to his lover, even if just to his peace of mind. As for the issue between him and Athos, he knew that would work itself out in time. Even now, he could feel the hurt of his actions lessening. By the time they returned home, it was likely he would be able to put the incident behind him entirely. He hoped so. They had enough to worry about without wasting time on his hurt feelings of all things.

“You are thinking rather loudly, love,” Aramis said as he nudged his mount a bit closer still.

“Sorry,” D’Artagnan apologized. “Just working on getting my head straightened out before we get to the Chateau. I don’t need to be distracted.”

“Very well,” Aramis said, putting a few feet between them once more. He was glad D’Artagnan was focusing on the mission at hand, but he would still keep a close eye on him. 

When they arrived at the Chateau de Bathory they were surprised by the state of the place. From what the Captain had said, the former estate had fallen into disuse many years ago and had only recently become occupied once more. Athos had expected to see it in a much greater state of disrepair but the grounds were nearly immaculate and the estate itself looked in good order.

“Seems they’ve been buys,” Aramis remarked as they dismounted and tied up their horses.

“Just so,” Athos replied. He led the way to the front door and knocked, glancing around the front of the Chateau as they waited.

After only a minute the large door was slowly drawn open. “May I help you?” 

Athos frowned when he saw no one at the door then looked down at Aramis’ gentle nudge. He had forgotten the farmer’s comment about the dwarfish servant. “I am Athos of the King’s Musketeers. Is Monsieur Bathory available?” he asked politely.

“One moment,” the servant replied. He closed the door partially, so as to block their view into the Chateau but did not go so far as to shut the door in their faces. Athos decided to take that as a good sign.

A few moments later the servant returned and opened the door widely. “Madame Bathory will see you in the hall if you would be so good as to follow me, please.”

“Of course,” Athos said at once, tipping his head respectfully. He led the way and the others followed, taking in as many of the details of the Chateau as they could as they were led to the hall. 

“Madame will see you shortly,” the servant told them. He exited the room then leaving them alone together.

“Rather polite fellow,” Aramis remarked.

“Very,” Athos agreed. “And the lady of the manor agreed to see us readily enough.”

“She may not have anything to do with it,” Aramis remarked. 

Just then the far door opened and a woman entered. It was clear at once that this was Madame Bathory, though she appeared to be much younger than they had expected. In fact, she did not appear to be much older than Constance. 

“Good day, gentlemen,” she said as he joined them. “Ficzko tells me that you are Musketeers?”

“Yes, Madame,” Athos said, taking her hand and bowing graciously. “I am Athos and these are my companions, Aramis, Porthos and D’Artagnan. We are here investigating local disappearances and would like to ask you some questions if we might.”

“Well, I am sure I do not know anything of any disappearances but you may ask what you wish,” she said, frowning.

“Forgive us, Madame,” Aramis said quickly. “We did not mean to imply that you had any knowledge of such, only that we wished to see if you had possibly seen or heard anything that might be of help to us.”

“Oh, of course,” she said, smiling at him. “Forgive me, gentlemen. We have not been here long and it has been hard to earn the trust of those around us.”

“Not at all, Madame,” Aramis assured her, using his most disarming smile. “Pardon my asking, but is there a Monsieur Bathory that we might speak with as well?”

“Ah, no,” she said, her eyes turning sad. “My husband passed away two years ago last winter. He… and our babe. The fever. It is why I came here. There were just… too many memories. Everywhere I looked, he was there.”

“I am so sorry,” Aramis said earnestly. “You have my deepest condolences.” He reached into his shirt and brought out his cross, kissing it reverently before dropping it back inside. It was more habit than anything, a comforting gesture in times such as these. 

“Thank you, Monsieur,” she said, dipping her head to hide the sudden wild glee in her eyes. Oh this one was a beauty and devout as well. She wondered just how deeply that devotion ran and just how much fun she could have taking it apart bit by bit. Her last *pet* had been put to death along with the majority of her inner circle. Perhaps it was time to find a new one.

“But enough about me,” she said as she got hold of herself and looked at the other three men. “Tell me of these disappearances you speak of and how I might be of help to you.”

Athos went on to explain about the missing girls from the neighboring farms and villages. “Have any girls come here, perhaps looking for work?” he asked. He doubted it, but he wanted to be sure.

“No,” she said, shaking her heard. “At least none that I spoke with. I will ask Ficzko to make sure, though. He will know for certain. Nothing happens in this household that he is not aware of.”

“Are all of your servants from your prior home?” Athos asked, wondering if perhaps they had taken on someone new and were as yet unaware of their actions.

“Not all of them, no,” she replied. “Some did not wish to go so far from their families. Most did not, actually. Ficzko, of course, came with me. He had no other family. At least none that he cared to claim or that cared to claim him. 

“My groomsman, Gerard, as well. His family died in the same fever that took mine. He had no one left to stay behind for. My maid, Elise, also came with me. She wanted to remain but her father insisted. Their family is quite poor and he could not afford another mouth to feed or to be without the money she sends home to them.”

“How well do you or Ficzko know the new servants you have taken on?” Aramis asked. 

“As well as can be expected, I would guess,” she said. “You do not suspect one of them, do you?”

“We do not suspect anyone at the moment,” Athos told her. “But we are not ruling anyone out as yet, either.”

“I am afraid I have little contact with the servants other than Ficzko, Gerard and Elise. However, I will put them at your disposal. And feel free to speak with any of the other servants as well. If any of my people have anything to do with this, I assure you they will find no sanctuary here, gentlemen.”

“Thank you, Madame. You have been most helpful,” Athos said. 

“I am happy to be of service,” she told him. “I shall have Ficzko come at once and speak with you. I will also have Elise prepare rooms for you to stay the night.”

“That is not necessary, Madame,” Athos told her.

“Nonsense,” she scoffed. “I have a great many servants here as they have been working non-stop to get the Chateau in order. It will take you some time to speak with all of them. I see no need for you to spend the night out of doors when there are perfectly good rooms sitting empty here.”

“Very well, Madame. We thank you for your generosity as well as your help.”

They watched her leave, unsure quite what to make of her. She was not like the nobles they were used to dealing with. “She kinda reminds me of Alice,” Porthos said, earning him a grimace from Aramis. “Just in that she’s not all snooty like most nobles tend to be.”

“Yes,” Athos said. “But I would still expect a bit more mistrust on her part. She is a relative newcomer to these lands by her own admission. And yet she is trusting us and even inviting us into her home.”

“We are Musketeers,” D’Artagnan pointed out.

“Yes, which to the nobility is little more than a cross between a lackey and a thug most of the time,” Athos replied.

“You said yourself, she’s not from here,” Porthos countered. “Maybe it’s a bit different wherever she’s from.”

“Austria,” Aramis said.

“Huh?” Porthos frowned.

“She’s from Austria, or thereabouts,” Aramis explained. “The accent is very similar to the Queen’s own and that crest on the wall is from an area near the northern border.” He had been looking around at the various tapestries on the walls. He had noticed the crests and had recognized the one from a similar one at the castle that he had asked about one time. 

Before they could discuss it further, Ficzko entered the room and walked over to where they were gathered. “Madame has bid me to help you with your investigation into the missing young women,” he said pleasantly. “I am Jozsef Ficzko. You may address me as Ficzko. How may I be of service to you gentlemen?”

“We would like to speak with you about the servants here, specifically the ones who are new to your employ,” Aramis began. Out of the four of them, he appeared to be the most comfortable with the dwarf so he automatically took the lead. “How many servants are currently in Madame Bathory’s employ?”

“Am I to include workmen as well as the manor and grounds staff?” he asked.

“Yes, please,” Aramis replied. “Anyone that is working here on an ongoing basis, even temporarily.”

“Very well,” he replied then thought for a moment. “That would be fifty-two in total, thirty-three men and nineteen women. Not including myself, Gerard and Elise, of course.”

“Madame was correct, this will take some time,” Aramis said.

“She has Elise making up rooms for you,” Ficzko said. “You are welcome to stay for as long as necessary. I have duties to attend to shortly but I can take you around the manor and grounds later on if that might prove helpful.”

“Yes, that would be most helpful,” Aramis said. They began plying him with questions then, asking who the newest hires were, if anyone seemed in any way suspicious at all, if anyone had any injuries that could not be explained or just seemed excessive or suspect even if they did have an explanation for them. They asked if he had noticed any of the servants having a temper or displaying more than the customary amount of interest in the maids. 

Finally, Aramis paused, unsure how to phrase his next question in a way that would not offer offence to anyone. Ficzko had been very helpful so far. He did not want to do anything that might change that. 

“You are hesitating. Why?” Ficzko asked, surprising the Musketeers.

“You are correct,” Aramis admitted. “I was thinking how to ask my next question so as not to offer offence.”

“I have found the best way is to simply ask it,” he said. “I am quite used to ignoring slights, as you can well imagine.”

“I am sure you are,” Aramis said, frowning slightly. “However, I have no desire to add to that.”

“Then ask your question and know that I will not take your words to heart regardless of what they are.”

“Very well,” Aramis said. “I know you are friends with a good many of the servants here. This is why I hesitated in asking this. You have said a few of the man have paid the maids a bit more than what would be considered friendly interest. Have any of those men, or any others for that matter, looked at any of the youngest girls that way?”

“I see now why you were so hesitant,” Ficzko said with a grimace of distaste. “What you suggest is… disgusting, Monsieur. But I assume you would not have suggested it if it were not a possibility with those that have gone missing. I have not noticed any such behavior. I assure you, if I had I would have dismissed the cad at once. I will, however, be paying closer attention to such from now on. If I should notice anything out of the ordinary in that regard, I will let you know at once.”

“Please do,” Aramis said. “And Ficzko, if you do notice anything, do not try to approach this man. Even to see what it is he might be up to. Come and find one of us. We have no idea as of yet how dangerous of an individual we are dealing with or even if it is only one man.”

“Very good, Sir. I shall proceed with all due caution. However, I will not see my Mistress in danger.”

“I promise you, any danger you point out to us we shall deal with at once.”

They arranged for them to speak to the servants after that. They divided into pairs to try to speed up the process. Athos and Porthos began with the men while Aramis and D’Artagnan started with the women. They were hoping that Porthos’ intimidating character would help make the men more apt to either tell the truth or let something slip while Aramis’ charm and D’Artagnan’s youth would help make the women feel more at ease. 

By the time they had gotten through all of the women and a little over half of the men, they were exhausted. Elise, Madame Bathory’s maid, came and showed them to a pair of rooms on the second floor of the manor. She had laid basins of warm water and clean towels out for them to bathe with. 

“Dinner will be ready in an hour,” she said somewhat shyly. “Madame would like for you to join her in the main hall. Ficzko will come for you when it is time. The door over there joins your two rooms. If these are not to your liking, I can prepare others.”

“These are fine, Mademoiselle,” Aramis said. “Thank you most kindly.”

“Good day, sirs.” With that she left, closing the door behind her and leaving the men alone.

Porthos looked around the rather ornate room and whistled. “Sure beats sleeping on the ground,” he said as he began removing his weapons and laying them out on the table near the door.

“I suppose you are correct there,” Athos said as he began to do the same. “We should clean up for dinner then compare notes until Ficzko comes to get us.”

“Agreed,” Aramis said and he and D’Artagnan began to strip down as well. 

The four of them quickly washed up, cleaning the dirt and sweat of the road from their skin. They left their doublets and the majority of their weapons on the table, as they did not want to offend their hostess by appearing to be untrusting. 

“Who’s taking which room?” Porthos asked as they sat down around a small table and laid out their various notes from the day.

Athos opened his mouth to reply but D’Artagnan spoke before he could. “You and Athos can take this one. Aramis and I will take the other,” he said, leaving no room for debate on the subject. Athos knew he could probably argue and force the younger man to capitulate but he did not want to do that. If D’Artagnan did not wish his company tonight, and he obviously did not, then Athos would not force it upon him.

“Any luck with any of the men you questioned?” Aramis asked, not wanting the silence to drag on and turn awkward. He would speak with D’Artagnan tonight and see if he could do anything to ease things between him and Athos. For now, however, they had work to do.

“Some but not much,” Athos admitted. “There are a few that warrant a deeper look. Their answers were somewhat vague in places.”

“Or they just looked shifty,” Porthos shrugged. “Kind of gave that sleazy feeling when you talked to them.”

“Ah,” Aramis said, knowing exactly what Porthos was referring to. Some men, they had found, wore their depravity like a badge of honor for all to see. They were actually proud of the atrocious acts they perpetrated, often on the most helpless of women and girls – those too young or poor to have any recourse whatsoever. Men like that made Aramis’ skin crawl and it was all he could do not to call them out when he ran across the likes of them. 

“We shall ask Ficzko about them after dinner. Perhaps he can give us more details on them,” Athos said. 

“Good idea,” Aramis nodded. “It would not due to alert them to our suspicions too soon. It could cause them to go to ground and we might never find the girls.”

“Or what is left of them,” Athos reminded him gently. He saw Aramis flinch and felt for his brother, but he needed to accept the fact that it was quite probable that the girls were already dead. Or as good as – sold off to God alone knew where. He would hope with all of his heart that they could find some of them alive and restore them to their families, but he wanted his brother to be prepared for the worst.

“I know, brother,” Aramis said softly. “I know they are likely dead or gone or… or worse. But I shall hope and pray until such time as we find out.”

“And we shall hope with you, brother,” Porthos said.

“Did you find out anything from the women?” Athos asked, trying to get the conversation back on track.

“Not really,” D’Artagnan replied. “They are nervous. They know something is amiss, but they are unsure what. It could be whoever is doing this is indeed attached to the manor and that is what is making the women nervous but it is nothing any of them can say for certain.”

“It could just as easily be an overly lecherous workman eying them up causing it, too,” Aramis said. “And that is actually the more likely cause.”

“I do not get the impression that Ficzko or Madame would allow such for long,” Athos said.

“Neither do I,” Aramis grinned. “She strikes me as a rather strong woman who would not stand for such ill-mannered behavior. And Ficzko would not tolerate such in his Mistress’ presence, that is for certain.”

“Don’t even start flirting with her,” Porthos warned, only half joking.

Aramis looked at him, stunned. Hurt flashed in his eyes for a moment before he shoved it back. “My dear Porthos, I would never be so uncouth as to flirt with the lady of the manor. Especially when we are still in need of her cooperation as well as that of her manservant. Please do not mistake my genuine interest in her circumstances and respect for her strength as anything other than what they are.”

“I was just joking, love,” Porthos said softly, pitching his voice even lower at the end so the endearment would not carry.

“Of course,” Aramis said with a nod. 

They continued to talk until Ficzko came to bring them down for dinner. They had made a list of the people they wanted to speak with him about and he assured them he would make himself available to them after dinner to discuss the servants and to give them a tour of the estate. 

Dinner was rather more intimate than they were expecting as Madame Bathory had one of the smaller tables laid out for them rather than the long, ornate ones normally used for guests. It was surprising, but the surprise soon gave way to a feeling of comfort as they chatted about various things over dinner.

“Aramis,” she began once dinner had been cleared away and they were enjoying a glass of wine. “I could not help but notice your cross earlier. In my country, we do not often see such religious soldiers. Are things that different here?”

“Alas, no,” Aramis said chuckling. “I am rather more the exception than the rule.”

“Aramis here was a seminarian before he decided being a soldier was more his calling,” Porthos said, clapping his brother on the back.

“Truly?” she asked, surprised. “You must tell me about it some time. I have always found religion and the church quite fascinating, even if somewhat… constricting at times.”

“And that is one of the many reasons why I left,” Aramis admitted. “I found that the God I believe in did not seem to coincide with the God being preached about so zealously by the good Fathers. Though I must admit, I have met several priests of late who have restored my faith in the church a great deal.”

“They must be truly great men indeed,” she said. “For I have found that once a man’s faith has been… damaged, shall we say, it is nigh impossible to restore it once more.”

“You, Madame, are quite right,” Aramis replied.

“Please, you must all call me Elizabeth,” she said, regarding each of them in turn. “This Madame business shall get old rather quickly, I fear.”

“Ah, we do not wish to be improper,” Aramis said politely. 

“Nonsense,” she laughed. “Besides, I never get to hear my name spoken any more. Ficzko would never be so improper as to use my given name. Neither would Gerard or Elise for that matter. And he would flay alive any of the other servants who dared.”

“As you wish, Madame… Elizabeth,” Aramis said with a smile. He felt D’Artagnan nudge his foot and knew that Porthos was probably giving him a look but there was nothing to be done for it now. He had not flirted. He had not acted inappropriately. He had simply been interested and had acted as such. It was not his fault she was lonely out here.


	16. Chapter 16

Part 16

“How did it go?” Madame Bathory asked Ficzko as he entered her room, carefully closing and locking the heavy door behind him.

“Well,” he said, grinning. “I showed them about the estate and throughout the grounds. I made sure to point out a few of the less savory workmen. That should give them someone to focus on for the time being.”

“Excellent,” she replied. “I would hate for them to leave us too quickly after all.”

“Ah, I see,” Ficzko grinned. “And which of them has caught your eye? The young one perhaps?”

“No,” she laughed. “The one called Aramis. He was a **seminarian** before he became a Musketeer. I have not had the pleasure of taking a priest in ages.”

“Do you think you can corrupt him?” Ficzko asked, still grinning at her. He remembered all too well the last priest she had “taken”. How he had fought her, clinging desperately to his faith. In the end, however, he had succumbed. From what Ficzko had been told, the man had been uttering prayers to the devil when the executioners had taken his head.

“I believe so,” she replied. “He has had his faith shaken and is still regaining it. That will make him vulnerable. And even if I cannot, I could always use a new pet.”

“I remember what happened to the last one of those, too,” Ficzko commented.

“Yes, well, when I tire of him, you may have him,” she said. “But only if you promise to try to make this one last more than a week.”

“I will try,” Ficzko said, “but I can make no promises. Their screams are always so sweet that I simply get carried away.”

Elizabeth laughed. “He should prove somewhat hardier than the last. He is a Musketeer after all.”

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

Constance was surprised by the knock at her door. She was in the kitchen preparing a light meal and was not expecting anyone. Drying her hands on her apron, she opened the door and smiled when she saw Captain Treville standing there.

“Come in,” she said, opening the door wide and stepping back.

“Good evening, Madame,” he said, removing his hat and stepping inside. He closed the door behind him and followed her back into the kitchen. “I just wanted to stop by and check on you.”

“You men,” she laughed. “I am capable of looking after myself, you know.”

“We do,” he replied. “But Paris can be a dangerous place and your new boarders have no shortage of enemies.”

“Why do you think I keep a loaded pistol in the bedroom and a sword in the pantry?” she said, smiling widely and making Treville laugh. “But I am glad for the visit regardless of the nature. You will stay for dinner, won’t you?”

“I do not wish to be a bother,” he said.

“You are no bother and you know it,” she scoffed. “This place is too quiet with them gone. I scarcely know what to do with myself.” She finished putting dinner on to cook then removed her apron and sat down across from the Captain.

“You seem to have gotten used to them rather quickly.”

“I was used to them long before they moved in,” she replied. “Where do you think they hatched most of their ridiculous plans at?” She looked away then, worry clouding her features. She knew she was being rather foolish and had no wish to add to the Captain’s concerns with her own.

“Constance? What is it?” Treville asked. He has not missed the subtle shift in her demeanor.

“Nothing,” she said, trying to dispel her fears.

“Madame, you are not the sort to worry over nothing,” Treville said. “Tell me what troubles you and know that if there is some way I can help I will do so at once.”

“It really is nothing,” she said, smiling at his earnest reply. “I am simply worried about Aramis.”

“Aramis?” Treville said, surprised. He would have thought her concerns would be more for young D’Artagnan.

“I know it is foolish,” she said again. “I just… I worry for how he is handling all of this. I do not know what happened before but I know it affected him a very great deal. I can… I can see it in his eyes sometimes, this shadow. I know he can take care of himself and that the others will watch over him as well, but I cannot help but to worry.”

“I understand,” Treville said. “And you are correct, what happened before had a profound effect on all of them but, for Aramis, the damage done was of a more spiritual nature than physical. And that… that can be hard for a man to come to grips with. I am sure the other will watch over him for you, though. You do not need to worry.”

Treville flushed when he realized what he had said or rather implied. He did not think there was anything between Constance and Aramis other than friendship but he would have said the same of D’Artagnan and Athos not so long ago.

“I do not believe I have ever seen you blush before,” Constance gently teased. She reached out and laid her hand on his arm, ensuring she had his full attention. “There is nothing between Aramis and I but friendship. He calls me Sister. Nothing more.”

Treville nodded, accepting her words even as he wondered ‘for how long?’. “I did not mean to imply otherwise,” he said. “And you do not have to justify your relationship to me or anyone else. It is between the… well, the lot of you, I suppose. Just… be careful. Aramis is not the only one who does not wish to see you hurt.” 

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

Back in their rooms, they gathered round the table to compare notes once more and plan for the coming day. They had spoken with Ficzko and told him they wanted to finish talking with the rest of the male servants and workmen then they would have some few they would want to speak with again. He promised to make them available to them as well as anything else they might need.

“You seem troubled, brother,” Athos said to Aramis, noticing how anxious he appeared. “Have you noticed something?”

“Nothing tangible,” he sighed. 

“But something?” Athos pressed. 

“When Ficzko was showing us about the estate, I felt a sense of foreboding similar to what I felt at the ruins. It was not as strong, of course, but it was definitely there. I felt it again a few times as we walked about the grounds.”

“What do you make of it?” D’Artagnan asked, his brow knitting in concern.

“I do not know. It is as if I can feel something… evil here, but I cannot pinpoint what or from where it comes,” Aramis explained, growing frustrated that he could not offer them more. “It is as if it is all around us yet when I try to focus on it, to try to discern what I can of it, it… moves or dissipates or… or something.”

“Peace, brother,” Athos said, resting his hand on Aramis’ shoulder and squeezing lightly. “Perhaps it is coming from whoever is responsible for these acts and therefore is moving with them.”

“Mayhap you are right,” Aramis sighed. “Whatever it is, we need to be vigilant. Do not let your guard down, brothers. Not for a moment.”

“We will not,” Porthos said. “But you watch yourself, you hear me? No going off alone. You keep one of us with you no matter what.”

“I think that would be wise for all of us,” Aramis agreed. “No going off alone. We stay in pairs at the very least.”

A short while later, Aramis and D’Artagnan bid them goodnight and retired to their room. Athos watched them go somewhat reluctantly. He wanted to talk to D’Artagnan but refrained. It was clear that the boy did not wish his company this night. Athos would not be so boorish as to force it upon him. 

“Aramis will talk to the boy,” Porthos said, sensing Athos’ distress. He knew how much Athos hated leaving anything unsettled between them. In the face of such a dangerous mission, though, it was even worse.

“I am fairly sure Aramis finds me equally at fault where D’Artagnan is concerned,” Athos replied. He sat down on the side of the bed and wearily scrubbed a hand over his face. 

“Aramis does not blame you,” Porthos said as he sat down beside him.

“Do not forget, D’Artagnan is Aramis’ Master and Aramis already ceded his chance to lie with D’Artagnan in such a manner so that I might have that honor,” Athos reminded him then snorted derisively. “It would serve me right if they changed their minds and proceeded as they so desired.”

“Do not be stupid,” Porthos scoffed. “They would not be so petty or cruel, especially to you.”

“Perhaps not,” Athos conceded. “But even you must admit I would be more than deserving of it if they did.”

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

D’Artagnan’s eyes kept being drawn back to Aramis as they prepared for bed. He was worried for his brother. He did not like the way this mission was turning out. It reminded him far too much of their last one and he had to wonder if Aramis was downplaying his intuition so as not to alarm the others.

“What is it?” Aramis asked when he caught D’Artagnan eyeing him for the third time.

“I would ask you something but I do not wish to make you angry or have you think I doubt you in some way,” D’Artagnan said. He knew he had to say something. His mind would never let him rest until he had assured himself that Aramis was not risking himself recklessly.

“Let us undress and get into bed,” Aramis said. “Then perhaps my Master will ask me what it is he wishes to know for he knows I would never lie to him even if my brother might doubt my words.”

“I do not doubt you,” D’Artagnan told him at once. He crossed the room to Aramis and gripped him by the arms, forcing the man to look at him. “I do not. But I know that you tend to minimize things at times, especially if you do not want us to worry. I would have you speak plainly, at least to me, and know that I will not break your confidence unless it would put you at risk to keep it.”

Aramis rested his head against D’Artagnan’s and closed his eyes for a moment. “I am sorry. I know you do not doubt me. Let us get into bed as I said, then we can talk.”

D’Artagnan let him go and quickly finished stripping off his clothes until he was down to his smalls. He started to get into bed, then stopped and picked up his pistol. He placed it on his side of the bed, within easy reach should he have need of it, then climbed into bed and waited for Aramis.

Aramis slid in beside him after placing his own pistols within reach as well. He turned on his side then and laid his head on D’Artagnan’s shoulder, relaxing at the feel of the younger man’s arm sliding around him. “Ask me what it is you wish to know,” he said. “I will not mislead you.”

D’Artagnan took a deep breath and hugged Aramis close. “Were you being entirely honest about what you said earlier? About the evil you felt? Or were you trying not to make us worry?”

“I was being honest,” Aramis said, smiling slightly. He knew he should probably take offense at being questioned in such a way but he knew his lover did not mean any insult by his words. “I feel an evil here but it is… transitory. It does not stay in any one place. It seems almost elusive, as if it were taunting me in some manner.”

“Alright,” D’Artagnan said, relieved. “You will tell me at once if that changes in any way. You do not have to tell the others if you do not wish to. I know they have been somewhat… smothering of late but it is only because they love you and cannot bear the thought of you coming to harm.”

“I will tell you, Master,” Aramis promised. “And if you wish me to tell them as well, I will do as you say in this matter.”

“No,” D’Artagnan said. “You may decide that for yourself as you see fit.”

“Thank you,” Aramis murmured. “That you trust me enough to allow me to decide for myself…”

“I trust you completely, Little One. In all things,” D’Artagnan told him.

They stayed like that for a little while, silently enjoying each other’s company. Finally, though, Aramis felt he had to speak. “May I ask you something?” 

“You may ask me anything you wish.”

“Are you still angry with Athos?” Aramis asked carefully. When D’Artagnan failed to reply, he went on, hoping to ease him. “It is alright, if you are. We can talk about it, if you would like. Or I can stop talking and we can simply lie together…”

“I am not angry,” D’Artagnan finally said, stopping Aramis mid-sentence. “Not really. Just… still hurt, I suppose. I am getting over it, though. There is no need for worry. I know he wishes to speak to me about it. I need a little more time, that is all. I do not want to say something I do not mean simply because I am hurt.”

“A wise course of action,” Aramis said. “Do you mind if I tell Athos as much? He is so very worried right now.”

“I do not mind,” D’Artagnan told him. “I know seeing any of us in pain hurts you as well. And I remember what you said, that you could not let your own guilt go as long as there was still discord between Athos and I over what happened.”

“I am not worried about me, Master,” Aramis replied.

“I am,” D’Artagnan told him.

Quiet descended again for a time before Aramis spoke up once again. “May I ask about something else?”

“You are full of questions tonight,” D’Artagnan chuckled. He felt Aramis duck his face a bit and kissed him on the top of his head. “Ask what you will. If it is something I do not wish to talk about I will tell you as much.”

“What you said before, about Constance, what did you mean?” 

D’Artagnan stilled. He had not expected this question, having forgotten about the comment he had made some time before. He thought for a bit, trying to think of how best to explain himself without causing Aramis to feel he had somehow done something wrong. When he felt the man start to stiffen against him, he kissed the top of his head again.

“It is alright,” D’Artagnan told him softly. “I am thinking how best to explain myself. I am not upset at your question. Please give me a moment.”

“Of course,” Aramis said softly, relaxing back against his Master’s side. He had worried that he had angered D’Artagnan with his question when he had failed to respond. He remembered that he had said they would discuss it later but perhaps this was still not the time.

“At the time,” D’Artagnan began slowly, “I was trying to assure them more than you really. I wanted them to know that I was aware of their concern about your growing relationship with Constance and that I did not object to it.”

“Why would you object to it?” Aramis asked, confused as to why Athos or Porthos would think that D’Artagnan would mind he and Constance being friends.

“Because they seem to think that you are headed toward something much more intimate than either friendship or brotherhood,” D’Artagnan told him.

“What?” Aramis gasped. “Surely… but…” Now Porthos’ comment about Madame Bathory made so much more sense. But surely his brothers did not think him so utterly faithless as to bed anyone who crossed his path. Surely they must know he would never betray them so callously.

“Peace, Little One,” D’Artagnan said, stroking his hand up and down Aramis’ back in an attempt to soothe his sudden agitation.

He pulled back his head and looked at D’Artagnan then, desperately needing to see his eyes. What he saw there went a long way toward quelling the rising panic within him, for D’Artagnan looked at him with nothing but love and acceptance. There was no accusation, no worry or doubt or betrayal. 

“Please,” Aramis beseeched plaintively, “if I have behaved inappropriately, you must tell me so. I do not mean to show you disrespect. I would never…”

“Little One,” D’Artagnan sighed, shaking his head. “ _Aramis_. You have neither behaved inappropriately nor shown disrespect toward myself or Constance in any way. What is between the two of you, is beautiful. 

“She is the sister of your heart. But not so long ago, we were the brothers of your heart. These things can change and that is what Porthos and Athos fear. Though I think it is my reaction to it that they have the most concern for.”

“I would never betray you in such a way,” Aramis told him.

“And if I would not consider it a betrayal?” D’Artagnan asked.

Aramis closed his eyes for a moment then looked back at him. “You are a most generous man. But while you would not consider it a betrayal, it is quite clear from your words that the others would not be so lenient. At least now I know why Porthos was warning me off Madame Bathory. My God, what a whore he must think me.”

“Stop that,” D’Artagnan told him sternly. “You are no whore and I will not hear you spoken of so by anyone, including yourself.”

Aramis did not reply but he settled back down with his head on D’Artagnan’s shoulder once more. Taking the other man’s free hand in his, he held onto it, wordlessly seeking reassurance. “I will comport myself more decorously from now on,” he said more to himself than D’Artagnan.

“Go to sleep, Little One,” D’Artagnan told him. “We have had a taxing day. You will feel better in the morning and we can talk of this then if it is still troubling you.”

“Yes, Master,” Aramis replied, closing his eyes dutifully. His last thoughts, before sleep claimed him, were filled with thoughts of penance and atonement.


	17. Chapter 17

Part 17

Aramis’ sleep was restless, his Master’s words plaguing his mind even in sleep. Normally, his brother’s arms around him would be enough to allow him to settle, but not this time. Eventually, he slid from the bed rather than disturb D’Artagnan’s sleep needlessly. Sitting on the ledge by the window, he stared out at the night sky and thought about what the other man had told him. 

He would speak with the others as soon as at all possible. He would apologize profusely for his disrespectful behavior and assure them that he would comport himself more appropriately where Constance was concerned from now on. 

He would, of course, have to offer some explanation to Constance upon their return. She would surely notice his sudden reluctance to… engage with her as he had been. He would need to give that some thought lest she somehow think herself to blame. 

Feeling suddenly pent up in their room, Aramis decided to take a walk about the manor. At this hour he doubted if anyone else would be about and perhaps he could figure out more about the elusive forebodings he had felt earlier.

He redressed but did not bother with his doublet as he had no intention of leaving the manor. He did take one of his pistols and tucked his dagger along his back, just in case he did run into someone. He did not think there was much chance of that, though. Not within the manor itself. Aramis was confident that Ficzko would have made sure that all of the workmen were gone before locking up for the night. However, he had promised his lovers not to take unnecessary chances and they were quite put out with him as it was. There was no sense in upsetting them further needlessly. 

Taking a candle from the table, he lit it and slipped from the room. He looked up and down the hall then headed back toward the staircase. He distinctly remembered feeling something when they had passed through the chapel near the oratory. He was not sure if the feeling had emanated from the chapel, the oratory or even someone or something else nearby but it was a place to start. Besides which, if he ran into anyone he could always claim he had simply come down to pray. 

As he made his way through the manor, he felt his senses begin to sharpen and focus in a way they normally only did when faced with an impending battle. He could feel his nerves prickling, as if eyes were upon him yet he resisted the urge to turn and look. He knew no one was behind him. He would have both heard their footsteps as well as felt the shift in the air currents from their movements. Whoever, or whatever, was watching him was doing so from someplace unseen and likely stationary. 

Deciding to keep with the premise of simply seeking a few moments of quiet contemplation, he continued on to the chapel. He made careful note of his surroundings, trying to sense more of the darkness he had felt snatches of before. He had descended to the main floor before he got his first inkling that he was on the right track. It was just the barest hint of a feeling again but it was definitely there. Luckily, it seemed to lead in the direction of the chapel.

The closer he got to the chapel and oratory, the stronger the feeling of evil became. His sense of foreboding increased as well and he found himself slowing his steps. The last thing he wanted was to blunder upon something he was ill-equipped to confront. To his surprise, he found the chapel empty. A few candles were lit, casting the room in long shadows. Otherwise, it appeared as ordinary as any other estate chapel. The icy feeling of dread that gripped Aramis’ heart, however, was very much out of the ordinary.

Aramis moved deeper into the room, trying to discern if the evil he felt was coming from the chapel or was confined to the oratory. He approached the altar cautiously, eyeing it as one would a venomous snake, as if it could lash out and strike him at any moment. Realizing he was gripping the candleholder in his hand hard enough to turn his knuckles white, he forced himself to relax. This was ridiculous. It was an altar. It could no more reach out and attack him than the Cardinal could walk on water.

“Get a grip,” he whispered to himself as he moved about the front of the chapel, looking for any sign of… wrongness. When he found none, he stopped and took several deep, calming breaths. Feeling some of his tension bleed away, he closed his eyes and let himself simply feel for a moment. He could feel the evil brushing against the edges of his awareness but it was as before, ephemeral… as if it were trying to taunt him. Or draw him out. 

Aramis snapped his eyes open and looked about quickly. The idea that the evil here might be purposely trying to draw him out had not occurred to him before. He had thought it to be taunting him, toying with him. He had not considered that it might be taunting him for a different reason. He had not considered that it might be trying to _entice_ him. 

With that realization came the realization that he was alone here. And that his lovers had no idea he had even left the safety of their rooms, let alone where he might have ventured to. This had been foolish in the extreme and he needed to return to the others. Heading back to his room, he thought of his sleeping brother. D’Artagnan would not be happy with him if he awoke alone. And the knowledge that he had left D’Artagnan alone as well, had left him sleeping and unguarded, had Aramis all but sprinting up the stairs and back along the hall to their rooms.

When he slipped back inside their room and saw the younger man still sleeping peacefully, his knees nearly buckled in relief. Setting the candle down on the table, he shut and locked the door then sat down heavily. If anything had befallen the boy in his absence he would have never forgiven himself. Had no he, himself, cautioned them all about going off alone? Shaking his head, he returned once more to the ledge under the window. He would not behave so incautiously again. For now, he would simply sit and watch the sun rise and make his devotions. 

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

D’Artagnan awoke to the feel of an empty bed. Frowning, he opened his eyes and looked about for Aramis. He found him sitting on the window ledge, staring out as if lost in thought. He had hoped that the morning would offer his lover some perspective on their conversation of last night. It was clear, however, that was not the case. 

“Good morning,” D’Artagnan said softly as he threw back the blanket and sat up on the side of the bed.

“It is still early,” Aramis said, still staring out of the window. “You can sleep for a while longer if you wish. I will wake you when it is time to get up.”

“Did you sleep at all?” D’Artagnan asked, rising and getting dressed.

“A bit,” Aramis said, “though not much. I could not seem to settle. I did not want to disturb your rest so I got up.”

“You could have woken me. I would not have minded.”

“I know,” Aramis said, turning to look at him then. He smiled softly at him, though it did not quite reach his eyes. “But there was no reason for both of us to lose sleep.”

“Was it because of what we talked about?” D’Artagnan asked. “Because of Constance?”

“Yes. I need to speak with Athos and Porthos. I fear I will not be able to rest until I do so. I am… unsure what I am going to tell Constance. I will have to offer her some explanation lest she think she did something to cause my sudden distance.”

“Tell her the truth,” D’Artagnan said. “That your brothers are jealous idiots.”

Aramis chuckled. “I do not think that would be a wise course of action. She has threatened to take a strap to Athos once already.”

“He would deserve it this time,” D’Artagnan replied.

“No,” Aramis said, turning serious. “The only one deserving of punishment in this regard is me. I know that we cannot do so now but, once we are home again, I would like… that is…”

“Little One, you have done nothing wrong,” D’Artagnan told him. 

“Please,” Aramis snorted derisively. “I have behaved in such a way as to make our brothers, two men that know us better than anyone else, think I would be so utterly disrespectful to you as to bed the woman you love.”

“I do not love Constance,” D’Artagnan said. “Not… not like that.”

“Yes, you do,” Aramis told him. “You did not stop loving her simply because you fell in love with us. Love does not work that way. You will always love her. Whether or not you choose to be with her has no bearing on that.”

The door between their rooms opened then and Athos and Porthos walked in. They looked back and forth between the pair, noting the sudden tension in the room. “Have we missed something?” Athos asked, closing the door to their room behind them.

Aramis turned to regard them both for a moment then spoke. “We were just discussing Constance,” he said. He saw them both go still, their eyes cutting to look at D’Artagnan. “I have already spoken with D’Artagnan and offered my sincere apologies for my behavior.”

He looked over at D’Artagnan himself then and inclined his head in silent apology once more before turning his attention back to the others. “I would do the same with both of you now. I…. I had not realized how my… my actions might be construed… that I was… exceeding my boundaries as it were.”

“Hey now,” Porthos said, interrupting him. “We don’t mean it to seem like we’re putting restrictions on you.”

“I have behaved disrespectfully, to both of you as well as D’Artagnan,” Aramis countered. “I can only beg of your forgiveness and assure that I shall comport myself more appropriately from now on.” 

“Aramis,” Athos said softly, unsure how to repair this. They had not meant for Aramis to feel as if they were placing restrictions upon him. That is not why they were worried. 

Aramis turned away from Athos, making it clear he thought the conversation over. He had no desire to argue the matter with him. He would handle it. There was, however, one last thing he needed to go over.

“Porthos, in deference to your request that I let you know before D’Artagnan and I engage in certain activities, please consider this as me doing just that,” Aramis said, his words coming out stiff and formal. “We shall, of course, wait until we are safely back home, but I wanted you to be aware. I am sure none of us want a repeat of what happened last time.”

Porthos’ eyes widened and he looked first to Athos then to D’Artagnan. He opened his mouth to protest but D’Artagnan shook his head sharply and he snapped his mouth closed. Aramis had said nothing would happen until they returned home. That meant he had time to talk to the boy and maybe convince Aramis to forget about _that_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part is a bit short but I wanted to try to move things along...


	18. Chapter 18

Part 18

There was a knock at their door bringing their conversation to a halt. Aramis moved to answer it and found Elise, the maid, standing in the hall. “Madame wished me to let you know that breakfast will be ready shortly. If you would be so kind as to please join her in the dining hall once more.”

“Ah, thank you, Elise,” Aramis replied. “Please tell Madame that we shall be along presently.” He watched the girl bow then walk back down the hall before closing the door. 

“So after we make nice with the lady how do we want to do split up today?” Porthos asked.

“Since we are finished talking with the women, I think it would be best if Porthos went with d’Artagnan,” Aramis suggested.

“I can look after myself you know,” d’Artagnan said smiling softly at his lover.

“I do know,” Aramis agreed. “However we still do not know what we are dealing with here. Our forces are more evenly split if Porthos is with you.”

“Only if the confrontation is a physical one,” Porthos said, reminding them that his strength had actually worked against them last time.

“At this point we have no reason to suspect otherwise,” Aramis pointed out. “At least where you three are concerned.”

“What do you mean?” Athos asked.

“So far, I am the only one who has felt anything amiss here,” he explained. “Either there is nothing more here than the transient evil of whoever is behind this or…”

“Or?” Athos prompted.

“Or it is not interested in the three of you.”

“The three of us,” Athos repeated flatly.

“Yes,” Aramis replied.

“So you have come to believe that it is interested in you?” Athos asked not liking the sound of that at all.

“I am not sure,” Aramis said truthfully, “but I think it is a possibility. It feels as though whatever this evil is, that it is taunting me. I did not realize until last night that it might be doing so in an attempt to draw me out.”

“You think it means to lure you somewhere?” Porthos asked, the naked fear in his voice quite clear.

“As I said, I am not sure. I only tell you what I think it could be.”

“We should leave,” Porthos blurted, the words slipping out before he could stop them. He knew it was a mistake as soon as it happened as Aramis’ eyes hardened and his lips thinned angrily.

“You are free to do as you wish,” he snapped. “But I will not abandon those children to some unknown fate.” Turning on his heel, he shoved past his brothers and strode out into the hall. He could not believe Porthos actually expected him to turn tail and run, leaving those poor girls to suffer God alone knew what. He felt a white-hot rate boiling inside of him and headed toward the stairs at a brisk pace.

As he descended the stairs, a thought came unbidden to his mind. _Perhaps the chapel would offer him some peace._

“Go after him,” d’Artagnan said to Athos. “Porthos and I will meet you in the hall. Do not let him go off alone.”

“Watch yourselves,” Athos cautioned, clasping both of them on the shoulder before hurrying after Aramis. He just caught a glimpse of him disappearing down the stairs and raced to catch up. He did not want any of them on their own right now, but especially Aramis.

“I am an idiot,” Porthos groaned.

“Often,” d’Artagnan agreed. “But no more so than the rest of us, brother. His reaction was rather extreme, even given how badly he wants to find the missing girls.”

“You thought so as well?”

“Yes,” d’Artagnan nodded. “And do not look so troubled. I will do what I can to change his mind about what he mentioned earlier. He has done nothing to merit punishment, not where Constance is concerned. I fear you and Athos may need to help in that regard though.”

“Anything, lad,” Porthos promised, relieved that d’Artagnan was not going to simply go along with Aramis’ wishes without protest.

“Maybe try explaining to him what it is that troubles you so about it,” he offered. “Perhaps then he will see that he has not somehow done wrong. Or it is your intention to put restrictions on him in such a manner?”

“I never want to see him… see him bound like that.”

“I did not ask what you wanted. I asked what your intent was,” d’Artagnan countered. “They are often not the same. Perhaps you would not see him bound, but think certain restrictions might be in his best interest? Is that it? Do you seek only to _protect_ him from himself?”

“You made your point, lad,” Porthos grumbled. 

“Good,” d’Artagnan told him. “Now let’s go down to the dining hall. I want to get this investigation over with so we can get Aramis the hell away from this place.”

“Agreed.”

Athos had to run the last bit to actually catch up to Aramis. He clamped a hand on his brother’s shoulder stopping him. “Aramis, the dining hall is this way,” he said, motioning back down the hall the other way.

“I am not going to the dining hall,” Aramis replied. He was tense, his muscles corded as if ready to spring yet he was unsure why.

“Then where are you going?” Athos asked confused.

“I… I… the chapel,” he replied. “I am going to the chapel.”

“Why?” Athos pressed. He tightened his grip on Aramis’ shoulder as if afraid the man might try to slip from his grasp. He had not liked the way Aramis had answered him. His outburst upstairs was odd enough, but seeking to sequester himself in the nearest chapel was odder still.

“I… I do not know. I thought… I thought it might bring me peace,” he replied. 

“Not alone, brother,” Athos cautioned. “We go nowhere alone. You told us that, remember?”

“Yes,” Aramis said. “Yes, I did. We should not go about alone here. There is something… something wrong here, Athos. I can feel it. There are eyes upon me. Watching. We must be on our guard.”

“Come,” Athos said, drawing him away from the chapel and toward the dining hall where Porthos and d’Artagnan were to meet them. “Let us go find our bothers and dine with Madame Bathory. Then we can get to work. The sooner we finish here the sooner we can be on our way once more.”

Breakfast was a rather quiet affair. None of them cared for where this investigation seemed to be headed. They especially did not like the way this evil seemed to be focusing on Aramis. Porthos in particular knew what it was like to be singled out by a malevolent force and had no wish for his brother to ever go through something like that.

“You are all very quiet this morning,” Elizabeth observed. “I hope everything is alright.”

“Forgive us, Madame… Elizabeth,” Aramis said, forcing a smile. “I did not sleep well last night and I believe my tossing and turning kept our youngest from getting much rest as well.”

“Oh dear,” Elizabeth said, feigning concern. “Are you unwell? I can have Ficzko fetch a doctor at once.”

“Oh no, there is no need,” Aramis assured her. “I fear there was simply too much on my mind. My desire to find these poor children is great and it keeps my mind from resting.”

“You poor dear. If you like, you could make use of the chapel later. I’m sure a man such as you would find it quite soothing,” she said. “Perhaps it would even allow your mind to rest.”

“You are too kind,” Aramis replied. “I shall do as you suggest as soon as I am able.”

They returned to their rooms soon after to finalize their plans for the day and gather the rest of their weapons. “Athos, may I have a word?” d’Artagnan asked once they were dressed and ready to head back downstairs.

“Of course,” Athos said, surprised and just a bit afraid. He had no idea what the boy wanted to talk to him about. It could be anything from Aramis’ recent behavior to, well, anything. Trying not to get his hopes up about a reconciliation, he walked back into the room he had shared with Porthos and waited for d’Artagnan to join him.

d’Artagnan followed Athos into the room and pushed the door mostly closed behind him. He did not want to close it all the way, not wanting a barrier between them and their brothers in this place. He had not missed the brief flare of hope in Athos’ eyes and he kicked himself for making his lover wait so long before talking this out with him.

“I am sorry,” d’Artagnan said as he moved to stand in front of him.

“Unless you are telling me you are leaving me, you have nothing to be sorry for,” Athos said. He had meant the words in jest but he could feel his insides twisting up in real fear at the thought of his young lover doing just that.

“Never,” d’Artagnan told him earnestly. “I love you. And while I have been upset at you and hurt by your actions, neither of those things had any effect on the love I feel for you.”

“I am so very sorry, love,” Athos told him, closing his eyes in utter relief.

“I know,” d’Artagnan said. He took a step forward and closed the short distance between them. He pulled Athos into his arms, holding him for the first time in days. He felt the man shudder against him then his arms were wrapping around him and holding him back as tightly as they could.

“I love you, d’Artagnan. Please, forgive me.”

“I have,” he replied. “I forgave you then and there. It was my own hurt I was having a difficult time with.”

“I do not deserve you,” Athos whispered. “That you would forgive such a horrid lapse from me…”

“Hush, Athos,” d’Artagnan told him. “It is done and over with. I am sorry it took me so long to get past it. I truly am, but I did not wish to say something to you in anger that I did not mean. You know how hot my temper runs.”

“I would have deserved it.”

“Regardless, I would have regretted saying it to you eventually. I did not want to have that regret between us.”

“I understand,” Athos told him. He hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should say what he wanted to . 

“What is it?” d’Artagnan asked when he sensed his hesitation.

“I… I would like, very much, to make things up to you,” Athos said carefully. “I will, of course, understand if you no longer wish such a thing. I know Aramis would be honored to share that experience with you and he would be so much more deserving of it than I.”

“I would still have that with you,” d’Artagnan told him, his voice so soft Athos had to strain to hear it even in the quiet room. 

“Are you certain?” Athos asked.

“Yes, but… I may need a while yet,” d’Artagnan admitted.

“I shall wait for you as long as you need me to,” Athos told him. 

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

“You think they’re gonna be okay?” Porthos asked when d’Artagnan pushed the door between their rooms closed.

“Yes,” Aramis replied, still somewhat stiff.

“I’m sorry,” Porthos told him. “I did not mean it to seem that we would simply abandon those girls. I would not do that. I would not ask _you_ to do that.”

“And yet you want us to leave,” Aramis replied.

“I am afraid,” Porthos admitted, flushing and looking away. “The thought of something… something evil getting its hooks into you like it did me… I would rather go through that all over again than to see you suffer it.”


	19. Chapter 19

Part 19

As they divided up for the day, Athos found himself glad he was the one paired with Aramis. He had not liked the way his brother had headed blindly toward the chapel, as if something were pulling him there. Any other time, Athos might attribute it to Aramis’ growing spirituality. This time, however, he feared something much darker might be the cause. He would need to warn Porthos and d’Artagnan to keep Aramis as far away from there as they could. A task that would prove all the more difficult with Madame Bathory herself encouraging him.

Pushing his concerns aside for now, he made himself focus on the task at hand. The sooner this was done, the sooner they could decide if any of those here truly warranted further investigation. If so, perhaps Athos could convince the Captain to have those they suspected brought back to Paris for questioning. Either way, the four of them would be leaving, at least for a time. And if Athos had his way, they would _not_ be returning the Le Chateau de Bathory. Ever.

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“You know they plan to leave soon,” Ficzko said as they observed the Musketeers from the High Room. It was one of the few places in the manor where they did not have to worry about being overheard. Elizabeth and Ficzko had designed the room very carefully. There were only two ways in or out and, once inside, it allowed for a view of most of the manor’s two main floors. The two entrances were known only to them, and the men who had constructed the room, of course. Those three men had fed their hounds for the better part of a week.

“I am aware,” Elizabeth replied. “I had hoped to get our dear Seminarian back into the chapel before they left but I am unsure if that will happen.”

“They do watch him rather closely.”

“Indeed they do,” she said shrewdly. “Tell me, Ficzko, how do you feel about a visit to Paris?”

“You mean to make them act as your guard?” he laughed, enjoying the irony of having the very man she sought to corrupt acting as her protector.

“Let us just say I want to keep an eye on our new pet. It would not due for him to slip his leash.”

“You do realize when you finally break him you will either end up with a thoroughly ruined husk…”

“Or the most superlatively evil thing I have ever created?” she finished for him, her eyes all but glowing. “Oh yes.”

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With the remaining men divided between them, they found themselves finished just after mid-day. They reconvened in their rooms, eager to discuss their findings and see if they had any viable leads to follow up. Aramis in particular was hopeful they would find something to allow them to continue their investigation in the area. He did not want to return to Paris yet again while those innocent girls were still missing and enduring whatever atrocities that were being forced upon them. 

“You come across any likely ones?” Porthos asked once they were all seated around the small table in the room he and Athos had shared.

“Not in this bunch,” Athos replied. “What of you two?”

“No,” D’Artagnan said. “I mean, there were a couple I wouldn’t want nosing around any of the my women, but none that would be capable of something like this.”

“Boy’s right,” Porthos agreed. “A couple of letches, but that’s about it.”

“So that leaves us with the few we identified on the first go round,” Athos said. “Very well. Of those, there were two in particular that stood out. You remember them, Porthos?”

“Oh yeah,” Porthos said. “Don’t know that I’d trust the one around my livestock, let alone my women-folk. The other one… he had that look. Like he’d maybe enjoy sticking a blade in something just to listen to the sounds it made while it bled out.”

“Indeed,” Athos said in disgust. 

“Let us go and talk to these two at once,” Aramis said, starting to rise. Athos’ hand on his arm stopped him and he scowled at his brother as he sat back down.

“Peace, Aramis,” Athos said. “Let us at least plan how we wish to go about this. If we simply storm after the one and he is not the culprit…”

“The other may rabbit on us before we can grab him,” Porthos finished.

“Then we split up again,” Aramis said. “Athos and I can talk to one while Porthos and d’Artagnan question the other one.”

Athos thought for a moment, trying to come up with an argument against it that Aramis would accept. He was finally forced to reluctantly concede. “I do not like it,” he said. “These are dangerous men, but we cannot take a chance on one of them running.”

“We will be mindful,” Porthos told him. 

“And armed,” d’Artagnan added. 

“Very well,” Athos said. “Aramis and I will take the one more prone to bloody mayhem. Porthos, you and d’Artagnan will question the one that has been eyeing the maids up so inappropriately.”

“Now wait a minute,” Porthos protested.

Athos held up his hand, stopping him. “You have d’Artagnan with you. And that is no slight against you, lad, but if this man is behind this and if he is as homicidal as he appears to be then Aramis and I stand a better chance against him should it come to a fight.”

“I can handle myself,” d’Artagnan said softly, trying not to be hurt by Athos’ words.

“It is not that,” Athos told him. “But Aramis and I have worked together for many years. We know each other’s moves, when one will feign right, when one will feign left. Should he somehow manage to grab one of us, we would stand a better chance at resolving the situation without one of us getting unduly injured simply because we would know, instinctively, how the other would react.”

“And we have not yet learned each other to that degree,” d’Artagnan said, understanding. He did not like it, but he did at least understand Athos’ reasoning.

“Just so,” Athos said. “In time, we will. In time, we will come to know each other just as well, be able to sense what the other will do without fail. But that time is not now and I would not risk you unnecessarily. Not when Aramis and I can do so in your stead.”

“We’ll talk to the pervert,” Porthos said. “But you two watch yourselves. We still don’t know if he’s acting alone.”

“You two as well,” Athos replied.

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

“Let me do the talking,” Athos told Aramis as they headed downstairs to find Ficzko. They had donned their doublets and armed themselves. Athos planned to either approach the man as he worked, if he were alone, or he would have Ficzko summon him to an empty area of the manner where they could question him.

“Am I no longer capable of questioning a suspect now?” Aramis bristled.

“Of course you are,” Athos told him, refusing to rise to the bait. “But your desire to find these girls has already clouded your judgment once. I would not see it do so again.”

“So you intend to politely ask him if he is abducting young girls from the countryside for some nefarious purpose?”

“Your flippancy does you no credit, brother,” Athos admonished. “You know very well I do not. But attempting to beat the information out of him could end up doing more harm than good. If any of the girls still live, we need to find out their whereabouts. Killing this man will not help in that end.”

“I am sorry,” Aramis said, chastened. “You are right. We must proceed with care if we are to have any hope of finding these children. Forgive me, brother.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Athos told him honestly. “But Aramis, I fear this place has begun to affect you in some way. I would have us depart from here with haste just as soon as we can.”

“Not before we find them, Athos. We cannot…”

“Aramis,” Athos barked, stopping him mid-sentence. He gentled his voice before continuing. “I know you do not wish to. And while there is still information to follow up on here, we shall remain. But after that, we _will_ return to Paris and report to the Captain. Perhaps by then he will have some new information for us as well.”

Aramis could feel his temper flaring again, just as it had when Porthos had spouted off about leaving. How dare they want to just up and walk away? Did they not care about these children? Did it not matter to them that these girls were being taken from their homes, stolen from their families? Were they all such cowards that they would rather turn tail and run than try to save these innocents?

“Aramis?” Athos said when Aramis only stood there glowering.

“Yes, Sir,” Aramis snapped, his eyes flashing angrily. He saw Athos reach toward him and twisted away before he could touch him. Without looking back, he continued onward in search of Ficzko. They had work to do, after all.

They ended up using the west wing of the manor. Repairs were still being done there so it was largely empty. Ficzko sent for the men individually, starting with the one being questioned by Porthos and d’Artagnan. He waited until the man, Frederic, was locked away with them before sending for the second man, Leon. 

Athos and Aramis were waiting when Leon entered the room. The man immediately tensed at seeing the pair of Musketeers. He recognized the one from talking to him the day before, but the other one was new. 

“What is this?” he asked when Aramis closed and bolted the door behind him, sealing him in the room with them.

“We would like to ask you some additional questions,” Athos stated. “Please sit down.”

“No,” Leon shot back. “I got work to do.” He turned around and reached for the door but Aramis moved to block him, his hand resting on the butt of his pistol. 

“Sit. Down.” Aramis glared at the man, almost daring him to try for the door. Anything that would give him an excuse to thrash him until he told them where the girls were.

Seeing the murderous look in the Musketeer’s eyes, Leon swallowed and turned back to face Athos. Seeing no he would get no help there, he sat down in the lone chair that had been placed in the room and waited. 

“What do you know of the girls that have gone missing in the area?” Athos began, asking much more direct questions than he had the last time he had spoken to the man.

“Nothing,” Leon said quickly. “Just the scuttlebutt that goes around. Bunch of girls run off or something. Why?”

“Where were you on the nights of August thirteenth, August twenty-second, September third and September twenty-first?” Athos asked. Of all the girls that had gone missing, these were the only actual dates they could confirm. 

“I don’t remember,” Leon replied. He heard a sound reminiscent to a growl come from the Musketeer off to the side and swallowed again. “Wait. Wait. Let me… let me think. You said… you said September the third, right? I was… I was in the stocks in Condette. Spent all day and night there. Even made me late getting here the next day. Ask Ficzko. He can tell you.”

“Why were you in the stocks?” Athos asked. 

“Got into a fight with one of the locals,” he shrugged. “Guess he didn’t like me telling him he smelled like pig shit. He took a swing. I broke his face. How was I supposed to know his brother owned half the damned town?”

“We will go and verify your story with Ficzko,” Athos said. “If you do not wish to find yourself summarily arrested, you will wait here for our return.” With that, Athos motioned for Aramis to open the door and precede him into the hall. 

Aramis stared at his brother but did as he was bid. Once in the hall with the door once more closed, he whirled on Athos. “You cannot tell me you believe him?” he nearly shouted.

“His alibi is easily verified, which we shall do right now,” Athos said. “If he is telling the truth, which I do believe he is, then he is not our man.”

“Why? Because he has an alibi for _one_ night?” Aramis protested.

“Yes, Aramis,” Athos snapped, testily. He was getting tired of Aramis fighting him on this. “If he has an alibi for one then he is likely not the culprit. You know that as well as I.”

“Perhaps there is more than one,” Aramis said. “He could have been part of the others.”

“You are grasping at straws, brother,” Athos told him. “I know you want to find the girls. We all do. But blaming an innocent man, even a reprehensible one, will not help to find them.”

“Fine,” Aramis spat. “Let us find Ficzko and see if he is telling the truth or not.”

They found Ficzko in the main room taking with Porthos and d’Artagnan. It was clear that they were after the same thing, confirmation of an alibi. This was not looking good for their investigation. Once the dwarf was done with the others, he turned to Athos and Aramis. “May I be of help, gentlemen?”

“Yes,” Athos said. “Leon said that he was in the stocks in Condette on September third. That he was late arriving here the following day because of it and that you took him to task over it. Do you recall the incident?”

“Oh yes,” Ficzko said after thinking a moment. “He had been given the day prior off and I was quite put out that he would be so late the next day. Then, when I got a look at him, I was even angrier.”

“Why was that?” Athos asked.

“He had a black eye and a split lip,” Ficzko said. “I realize that he is just a workman, but I prefer the ladies of the manor not be exposed to such… violence. Even just the servants.”

“Did he happen to say what happened?” Athos asked.

“He said he got into a fight and was detained. He made no mention of the stocks, but then I was quite put out with him already.”

“Thank you, Ficzko. You have been most helpful.”

They were headed back to the room they had left Leon in when Ficzko called out to them, stopping them. “Monsieur Athos?”

“Yes?” Athos replied turning back.

“I am not sure if this matters, but Leon’s brother had been here visiting him a few weeks prior. He left to return to Paris that day. That was why Leon had been given the day, to see is brother off,” Ficzko told them.

“Why was his brother returning to Paris?” Athos asked.

“I believe he resides there.”

“Thank you again, Ficzko.” 

They found Leon right where they had left him, another clear sign that he was not part of this in Athos’ opinion. A quick glance at Aramis, however, showed the man clearly still wanted to beat whatever information he thought he could get out of the man regardless of whether it was true or not.

“So, Leon, tell me about your brother,” Athos said, surprising the man.

“Philippe?” Leon puzzled. “Why do you want to know about him?”

“Because he was here during the time the girls went missing and we are pursuing every possible angle,” Athos replied. “So tell me about him. Unless, of course, you’d rather tell my friend over there.”

Leon turned to look at Aramis and quickly shook his head. “He was here visiting me. His wife… she is a bit of a shrew. He just wanted a little time away. I saw him off that day, the day I was off work. That’s why I was in such a bad mood. Then the pig farmer came in and I got in the fight…”

“So what does your brother do?” Athos asked.

“He’s a merchant in Paris,” Leon replied. “His wife and daughters weave blankets and such and he sells them in this little stall he has in the market.”

“And what is his surname?” Athos pressed.

“Rouzet. His full name is Philippe Rouzet. He lives on Rue des Rosiers. But I tell you, my brother had nothing to do with this. He… he has daughters of his own. He would never harm a child.”

“Thank you for your time, Leon. We appreciate your cooperation,” Athos told him. “If your brother truly is innocent, then he has nothing to fear from us.”

Leon cast a worried glance at Aramis but said nothing. He knew a dismissal when he heard one and quickly stood and left the room. He had thought the missing girls were simply runaways or the like. Now, however, it seemed that was not the case. 

“He will warn his brother,” Aramis said as he stared at the closed door that Leon had just left by.

“He will not,” Athos told him. “He would need to procure a horse and beat us back to Paris. I doubt he would be able to do either. Besides, he is smart enough to know that any such action on his part would only make both him and his brother appear guilty. He will not risk it.”

When they met back up with Porthos and d’Artagnan they could tell that they had had similar results. Aramis could not hide his frustration and Athos let his hand come to rest on the small of his back. “Steady, brother,” he said softly. “We still have a lead to follow up.”

“What did you find out?” Porthos asked, glad that they still had something to go on.

“Leon’s brother was here during some of the disappearances. He supposedly left just before the third one to return home to Paris,” Athos said, filling them in. “There is no reason, however, that he could not have returned here at any time. We have a name and an address. I suggest we pack up and prepare to head back.”

The anger and frustration was practically coming off Aramis in waves and the other three could all feel it. They glanced at one another, unsure what to do. This was very unlike their brother. While he often let his heart rule his head, he did not lose his composure in such a manner. 

“Ah, gentlemen,” Ficzko called as he approached them, drawing their attention away from Aramis for the moment.

“Yes, Ficzko?” Athos replied.

“How did your questioning go?” he asked.

“I am afraid it was for naught, though we did find some information that will require us to return to Paris at once,” Athos explained.

“Oh, well, that is rather fortuitous,” Ficzko smiled.

“It is?” Porthos asked.

“Yes. Madame wishes to journey to Paris and has sent me to ask if we might accompany you when you return. If it would not be too much trouble, that is,” Ficzko said. “We are aware that you have much more important things to worry about than a Countess but, well, we are new to this land and are not wholly comfortable travelling on our own as of yet.”

“Ah, well,” Athos began, unsure how to politely refuse, especially after how generous the lady had been to them.

“Please forgive us, Ficzko,” Aramis said, stepping in. “We are not used to such requests, especially worded so graciously. What Athos means to say is of course you may accompany us to Paris. We would be quite honored to act as chaperone for you and your Mistress.”

“Thank you, Monsieur Aramis,” Ficzko said, bowing slightly.

“Please, just Aramis is fine, friend. We had planned to leave shortly. Can you and Madame be ready so soon or will we need to postpone our departure until the morning?”

“We do not mean to inconvenience you,” Ficzko said. “But if there is any way we could wait until the morning…”

“Consider it done,” Aramis replied. “I am sure my brothers will not protest one more night spent in an actual bed as opposed to the ground.”

“Very good, Sir, ah, Aramis,” Ficzko smiled. “I shall let Madame know at once and we shall make our preparations. Please feel free to enjoy the manor as you would for the day. I will have Elise let you know when dinner is ready.”

Athos waited until Ficzko had left them before taking Aramis by the arm and turning him to face him. “Since when are you so eager to play chaperone to traveling nobles?” Athos asked.

“Since the lady took us into her home, fed us, sheltered us and assisted us in every possible way,” Aramis replied, jerking his arm out of Athos’ grip. “Don’t tell me you’re worried about me fucking her, too.”

“Aramis!” d’Artagnan snapped, surprising all of them. “Upstairs. Now.”

The look on Aramis’ face could only be called mutinous. He glared at the boy for long seconds before finally inclining his head curtly. “Yes, _Master_ ,” he all but sneered as he spun on his heel and headed up the stairs to the room they shared.

“What the hell is wrong with him?” Porthos asked, staring after his lover, lost.

“I do not know,” Athos said. “But we cannot let him out of our sight. Not for a moment. And under no circumstances do we let him near the chapel.”

“The chapel? Why not?” Porthos asked.

“I do not know,” Athos said again. “I only know that there is something there that is not right.”

“Alright,” Porthos said. “You two go back to our room. Let me see if I can get him to talk to me.”

“If you cannot, let me know,” d’Artagnan told him. “While I have no wish to, I will order him to comply if I have to.”

“Do you really think he’ll obey?” Athos asked as they watched Porthos hurry after their wayward brother.

“At this point, I have no idea,” d’Artagnan admitted. “Whatever is here, is obviously affecting him. First his fit of pique with Porthos, then you and now this. Something is making him act this way and I do not like it. I would feel so much better if we could simply leave now.”

“As would I,” Athos agreed. “But we cannot. Not without telling them more than we want to. Come, let us retire to our room. At least then we will be close at hand should Porthos need us.”

“Alright,” d’Artagnan replied. “Would it be terribly selfish of me to admit that I would very much like to spend some time with you?”

“No more so than it would for me,” Athos replied, his throat suddenly dry. He had to clench his hand into a fist to keep from reaching for d’Artagnan’s own as they walked.

“Good,” d’Artagnan said. “I have missed you.”

“I have missed you, too.”


	20. Chapter 20

Part 20

When Porthos entered Aramis’ room, he found him kneeling on the floor, his head bowed. He had removed his weapons, boots and doublet, leaving him in only his shirt and breeches. He paused in the doorway at the sight, surprised and somewhat aroused, despite his trepidation. Entering the room, he closed the door behind him and locked it. He glanced up to make sure the door adjoining their two rooms was still slightly ajar. Satisfied that it was open enough for his brothers to hear if he had need of them, Porthos approached his kneeling lover.

“Aramis?” he said carefully.

Aramis chuckled darkly and looked up at him. “I would have expected my Master to come,” he said derisively. “It would seem he cannot even be bothered to discipline me himself now but sends you in his stead.”

“You know the Whelp better than that,” Porthos chided, still mindful of Aramis’ rapidly changing moods. “Boy just wanted to give you some space to calm down a bit, that’s all. Besides, you know me better than to think I’d be punishing you for anything.”

“I should never have done this,” Aramis muttered.

“Done what, love?” Porthos asked. He stood next to Aramis and took a chance on kneeling down beside him. 

“I should have kept things between the two of us,” Aramis told him. “When I found out you had feelings for me, I should have broken things off with Athos then and there. We are so right for each other, you and I. I should never have…”

“Stop, please,” Porthos finally managed to gasp. He could not believe what he was hearing, what Aramis was saying. His heart ached at the thought of how twisted up inside his lover must be to even think such a thing, let alone voice it aloud.

“Why?” Aramis challenged. “It is nothing but the truth and you know it. We belong together. We are so very right for each other. Not like…”

“Stop it!” Porthos thundered, reaching out and shaking Aramis by the shoulders. “You _love_ Athos. I know damn well you do. And the Whelp, as well. You would not be whole without them.”

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

“I… I had not realized he felt…” Athos said, his voice trailing off weakly. He and d’Artagnan had slipped into the other room a few moments ago. They had arrived just in time to hear Aramis voice his regrets about their relationships. It had been enough to nearly bring Athos to his knees. It likely would have it d’Artagnan had not caught and held him.

“He does not mean that,” d’Artagnan told him fervently. He understood all too well how much Aramis meant to Athos. For Athos, Aramis was the other half of his soul. To hear the man speak of regrets, as if being with Athos was something he now thought better of, made d’Artagnan’s own heart ache for his lover. 

“Are you so certain?” Athos asked quietly. “For he has asked me the very same question, if I would have preferred it had remained just the two of us as lovers. Perhaps even then he had… regrets but did not know how to voice them.”

“No, Athos. No. He loves you. It is this **place**. Whatever evil is here is doing this to him. It is… is twisting him. We have to get him away from here.”

“In that much, we are in agreement,” Athos said. “He must be taken away from here with all due haste.”

“We ride out first thing in the morning,” d’Artagnan reminded him, taking what comfort he could in that. It was not soon enough to suit either of them, but it would have to be enough. Still holding onto Athos, he maneuvered them until he had his arms wrapped around him. He offered his lover all the comfort he was able to, stubbornly ignoring his own hurt at Aramis’ words. He would not worry about himself. Not when his brother was hurting so badly.

d’Artagnan was not sure how long they stood there like that before there was a soft knock on the door between their rooms. A moment later, he saw Porthos’ head peaked around it. Porthos opened his mouth to speak, then snapped it closed when he took in their appearance.

Walking fully into the room, he pushed the door closed a bit more and looked at his brothers. “He did not mean it. You know he did not,” he said, knowing from the looks on their faces that they had heard Aramis’ earlier words.

“Whether he did or did not is not important right now,” Athos said, pulling out of d’Artagnan’s arms. “Getting him away from this place and whatever evil is affecting him is what we need to concentrate on.”

“Well, we can’t do that until morning,” Porthos said sourly. “Look, I think you two should join us in the other rom.”

“I do not believe Aramis would appreciate such an intrusion at present,” Athos said, the stiff formality of his words revealing his pain. 

“And I don’t think it’s safe for us to be separated like this,” Porthos countered, knowing Athos would not risk their safety for hurt feelings. “We need to stick together. Especially now.”

“Why especially now?” d’Artagnan asked.

“Because if this evil knows we are planning to leave, and I think that it does, then it is going to try even harder to get its hooks into him. We need to be on guard, brothers. All of us. If we do not want to lose him.”

“It is hard for me to attribute some ethereal… thing… as having conscious thought,” Athos said. “But I cannot deny the proof of my own eyes. And I will not risk my brother regardless. We shall join you as you have requested.”

“Thank you,” Porthos said. “And Athos, I promise you, when this is over, when he recalls the things he has said, he is going to be horrified at his words.”

Athos did not reply. He did not have the strength to argue at the moment. He only hoped Porthos was right, at least for d’Artagnan’s sake. He remembered the look in the lad’s eyes when he had spoken about letting Aramis go if it was his wish. He had seen the pain that even the thought of such had caused him. He had no desire to see him have to live through such. 

Back in the other room they found Aramis still on his knees in the middle of the room. He looked up when the other two entered with Porthos, surprised. He had not realized they were in the other room. He wondered for a moment if they had heard his words to Porthos. From the shuttered look in Athos’ eyes, he knew they must have. He felt an ache inside him at the thought and frowned, unsure why that made him hurt so much.

d’Artagnan closed his eyes for a brief moment at the sight of Aramis on his knees. He glanced at Athos, but all of his walls were firmly in place, giving nothing away of what he truly felt. Not wanting to approach where he was not sure he was wanted, he hung back. 

“Aramis, would you not be more comfortable off the floor?” d’Artagnan asked, choosing his words with care. His earlier order had quite obviously been a misstep. He had no wish to make another. 

“Master?” Aramis queried, suddenly unsure. It was not like his Master to hold himself back from him in such a way. It made the ache inside him pulse and he felt sick. 

“It is alright, L-Aramis,” d’Artagnan told him softly, crouching down so that he was at eye level with him yet leaving the few feet of distance between them. He hands itched to reach out for him so he clenched them at his sides. He did not think he could take Aramis turning away his touch right now. 

“I… I h-have dis-displeased,” Aramis stammered, feeling his gorge rise at the way d’Artagnan was looking at him. He looked up at Athos but his eyes were still shuttered, locked up tight behind all of the old walls once more. Even Porthos looked wary, as if he did not know what to expect next.

“You have done no such thing,” d’Artagnan told him. “You… you are simply tired. And perhaps, overwrought by the day’s events. I know you did not sleep much, if at all, last night.”

“Athos is angry with me,” he whispered suddenly then clamped his mouth shut tight. He had not meant to say that aloud.

“I am not,” Athos said, stepping closer to Aramis and dropping down to his knees as well. He placed his hand on Aramis’ shoulder slowly, giving him time to draw back if the touch was unwanted. “I am… worried for you. You have not been yourself of late. I fear whatever evil lurks here is affecting you.”

Aramis shivered when Athos placed his hand on his shoulder and leaned toward him. His hand felt hot through his shirt and Aramis suddenly realized how very cold he felt. He started to say something, to tell them that he was cold, to ask them to help him get warm again but then he stopped. He could feel something moving inside of him, twisting and coiling within him, spreading its dark tendrils all around his soul. 

“Why does my Master hold himself away from me?” he finally asked once the thing inside of him had wrapped itself firmly around his soul.

“He is worried for you, too,” Athos explained. “I do not think he meant his words downstairs to come out as harshly as they did.”

“Does he think me a whore as you and Porthos do?” Aramis asked suddenly. He felt Athos’ hand tense on his shoulder and heard Porthos’ sudden intake of breath.

“I do not think you a whore and neither does Porthos,” Athos told him calmly. He was glad now that he had wrapped himself back in his old armor. It was the only way he could get through this conversation without running screaming from the room. 

“He thinks I want to fuck Madame… Elizabeth,” Aramis said, meeting Athos’ eyes and holding them steadily. “And he thinks I mean to seduce Constance to my bed. Do you think that as well? Do you think me so utterly base as to seduce the woman my Master loves? Tell me, Athos, does our dear Porthos worry about his Flea turning up in my bed as well? Or perhaps the lovely Alice? And just who do you worry about me seducing out from under you, brother?”

“Enough!” d’Artagnan snapped, straightening to his full height once more. 

“I only ask…”

“I said be quiet!” d’Artagnan snarled and strode over to him. He gripped Aramis by the hair and jerked his head back hard. “You will shut your mouth until such time as you can show your brothers the respect they deserve. Am I understood?”

Aramis felt tears prick his eyes at the punishing grip d’Artagnan had on his hair. His head was forced back at a painful angle as he stared up into his Master’s enraged eyes. Swallowing difficulty, he nodded as much as the other man’s tight grip would allow.

“I am going to release you,” d’Artagnan told him. “You are going to get onto the bed and try to get some rest. Am I understood?”

Again Aramis nodded as much as d’Artagnan’s grip would allow. d’Artagnan continued to hold him for a moment, searching his eyes, then he nodded and released him, stepping back once more. Aramis wasted no time and immediately crawled to the bed and got onto it as his Master had instructed. He closed his eyes, thinking how futile it was to even try to sleep. Before the next thought could even fully form, however, he was being pulled down into the darkness. 

He went willingly.

“My God,” Porthos gasped, sagging against the table and all but collapsing onto the chair. 

“He is trying to fight it,” d’Artagnan said as he sat down as well and motioned for Athos to do the same. “You can see when he manages to… to break through… whatever it is.”

“You mean when he looked genuinely upset about what he had said?” Athos asked. He was still hiding behind his walls but he knew his brothers would not hold it against him right now.

“Yes,” d’Artagnan replied. “When he said he had displeased, that was him… the real him. And when he said you were angry with him. The rest…”

“Were all lies,” Porthos stated angrily.

“Not… not entirely,” d’Artagnan said as gently as he could. “They were warped and distorted beyond measure, but…”

“But there is a basis of truth to them,” Athos finished. “He does worry that we think him a whore. He is upset about the situation with Constance. But what he said about Flea and Alice, that was… whatever this is… twisting him?”

“I believe so, yes,” d’Artagnan replied. “And the longer we remain here, the worse it will become, I fear.”

“Very well,” Athos said. “I want you and Porthos to take Aramis and depart at once. Knock him out if needs must. I will remain here and escort Madame Bathory and her man to Paris.”

“No,” Porthos said, shaking his head. “Not alone. Who’s to say whatever evil won’t come after you if we take Aramis away. And we still don’t know who all is behind these disappearances. You can’t stay here alone.”

“And none of us can manage Aramis all the way to Paris on our own,” Athos countered. “I will be fine. He… he is the priority here. He must be taken from this place before it damages him beyond all hope.”

“Athos, no,” d’Artagnan told him. “Porthos is right. We cannot leave one of us alone. Do you not understand? If something happened to you while you were alone, it would destroy Aramis utterly. Not to mention what it would do to Porthos and I. We have no choice, brother. We must stay together. It is only one more night. We will stay here, together. We will watch him in shifts. We will make it through to morning.”

“I do not like it,” Athos said. “But I cannot argue with your logic in this. And I do know what it would do to him if anything were to befall any one of us who stayed behind to get him to safety. We shall stay.”

“I’m not sure how he’s gonna take this come the morning,” Porthos began, looking over at his sleeping brother than back at the other two. “But I think we should maybe keep his weapons away from him. At least his pistols anyway.”

“You think he might try to harm us?” Athos asked. The idea that Aramis might actually try to harm them, that whatever this was could affect him to such a degree, made him feel cold all over.

“I don’t know,” Porthos shrugged uncomfortably. “I only know what I did when I was… not me. And I get the feeling he might not want to leave here come the morning. If he puts up a fight, I’d rather it not be an armed one.”

“We’ll divide his weapons between us,” d’Artagnan said. “That way they are not all in one place should he manage to get to them. And if we should need to get to them, each of us will have access to something.”

“Leave him his daggers,” Athos said, shaking his head when Porthos started to protest. “I will not have him completely unarmed. We can defend against his daggers easily enough.”

“Agreed,” Porthos said.

“Agreed,” d’Artagnan replied as well. “But I do not think he is going to like it.”

They took the night in shifts, watching Aramis closely for signs that he was either waking or feigning sleep. It appeared, however, that he slept throughout the afternoon and evening. They had asked to take their meal in the rooms, stating a desire to go over their findings and not wanting to disturb the Madame with such morbid dinner conversation. She had agreed, albeit reluctantly, when d’Artagnan had carefully let slip that Aramis was actually feeling a bit under the weather but had not wanted to worry her.

Now, as they gathered their things in preparation to leave, they found themselves dealing with a somewhat mistrustful marksman. “Tell me again why I am not permitted my own weapons?” he asked snidely for the fourth time.

“Because I have said so,” Athos finally said. “You are not yourself. You…”

“You had a fever last night and you were… raving a bit in your sleep,” d’Artagnan lied. He hated himself for doing it, for lying to his lover and his brother but if it got them under way then he would gladly do so. 

“I see,” Aramis replied. “And what does that have to do with now?”

“We are worried about a possible relapse,” d’Artagnan continued. “Surely you would not want to put Madame Bathory at risk for the sake of your _pride_.”

“Of course not,” Aramis said, affronted at the very idea. “But it will be rather difficult for me to act as a guard without weapons.”

“You have your daggers,” Athos pointed out.

“And your brothers,” Porthos added. 

“Fine,” Aramis snapped, snatching up his hat. He glared at the three of them, feeling his anger roiling through him once more. He wondered, briefly, if Athos would still act so high and mighty with his dagger at his throat.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter. I am having a bit of a block at the moment. More soon!

Part 21

Aramis made it a point to ride next to the lady and Ficzko, keeping well away from his brothers. He was still seething at being denied his weapons as if he were incapable of taking care of himself. More than once he found himself daydreaming of putting the daggers he had been allowed to use on the very men who sought to control him so, imagining the look in each of their eyes as the razor sharp blade bit deep enough to draw blood. He wondered if Athos would be his usual stoic self or if he might be able to wring at least a moan from the man. Perhaps not for his own sake, but he thought he might very well fail to maintain his stoicism in the face of his brothers’ pain.

“You are quiet, Monsieur,” Elizabeth said after a time. “Are you still feeling unwell?”

“I do beg your pardon, Madame,” Aramis said, turning to her and smiling brightly. “I am feeling much better though I admit my mind was… wandering just now.”

“Oh? Something interesting, I hope?” she asked.

“No,” he replied, shaking his head. “Just musing on the meaning of brotherhood.”

“A priest and a philosopher,” Elizabeth laughed. “My, you are quite the surprise.”

“I am neither faithful enough to be a priest nor wise enough to be a philosopher,” Aramis countered. “But I do believe that it is a waste not to use one’s mind. The philosophers had to start somewhere, I suppose.”

“Christ,” Porthos grumbled softly as he and Athos rode slightly ahead. “He’s doing it on bloody purpose now.”

“Of course he is,” Athos whispered resignedly. “You know as well as I do how vengeful Aramis can be. This is meant to hurt us. I only wish d’Artagnan did not have to endure it as well.”

“Yeah,” Porthos replied in defeat. “Boy’s not used to seeing this side of Aramis. Tell you the truth, I never thought we’d have to see it again. At least not directed at us.”

“Take heart, brother,” Athos said. “I do not think Aramis is to blame for this. Not entirely. Whatever was at work at the manor is still affecting him.”

“You sure about that?” Porthos asked. 

“Yes,” Athos told him. “This is not our brother. And because of that, we must be on our guard.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do not… do not trust him, Porthos,” Athos warned, though it made his heart ache to do so. “Do not turn your back on him and do not drop your guard. Not until we are sure that he is free of whatever it is that is affecting him so.”

“Surely you do not think…”

“I do not know what to think at this point,” Athos cut in. “But I know better than to take the chance. I have caught him looking at us, me especially, when he thinks himself unobserved. The rage in his eyes…”

“What do we do?” Porthos asked. He felt cold all over, as if his blood had turned to ice in his veins. The thought of Aramis hurting one of them… hurting _Athos_ … made him ill and brought back memories he had spent months trying to overcome.

“We keep an eye on him at all times,” Athos said. “We do not let our guard down and we get him home. I have hope that the farther we get him away from whatever evil was lurking at the manor, the more he will come back to himself.”

“And if he does not?” Porthos pressed.

“Then we find that priest Treville has been sending him to. Surely he can help. If not him, then we can secure him at the maison and send for Father Andre. I assure you, Porthos, we _will_ get our brother back. Even if it means fighting the very Devil himself.”

By the time they made camp for the night, Aramis’ mood had lightened considerably. At least where Madame Bathory and Ficzko were concerned. In their company, he would smile and laugh and _flirt_ without hesitation. For his brothers, though, his eyes held nothing but angry contempt, as if daring them to even approach him. 

Dinner was a somewhat trying affair due to the tension between them but Athos did his best to ignore it, acting as if everything was fine and hoping Porthos and d’Artagnan would follow his lead. He was relieved when they did just that, talking among themselves, including Aramis but not trying to draw him into the conversation overly much if he did not want to.

“Aramis, you have first watch,” Athos said as they cleared away the detritus of their meal. He would have preferred not having him take a watch at all armed with only his daggers but he wanted to get him away from Madame for a bit if he could.

“Oh, Monsieur Athos, surely it would be better if Aramis rested after so recently taking ill,” Elizabeth said, her hand coming to rest on Aramis’ arm in a way that could only be called proprietary. 

Athos stared at her, trying to come up with some argument that would not sound ridiculous. Finally, he inclined his head to her, conceding her point. “You are, of course…”

“Nonsense,” Aramis said, cutting Athos off mid-sentence, surprising all of them. He fought back a wince at the flare of pain inside his head as he spoke. “I am fine now, Elizabeth. I can take first watch. No need for my brothers to do all the work.”

“But Aramis, I… well… I just feel so much safer with you close,” she nearly purred, her hand clutching his arm tighter and her other hand coming to rest on his chest.

“I shall not be far, I promise,” Aramis said, carefully extracting himself from her. It felt like he was trying to pull himself from a pool of pitch. Every time he managed to gain an inch of freedom, another part of him got sucked down. He could feel _something_ clawing at him inside, scrambling to hold onto him, to pull him back to her even as he forced himself to move away. He found that, if he focused solely on his duty, he could manage it. Barely. 

Athos held his breath as he watched his brother struggle. He could all but see the fight going on inside of Aramis. He did not know what this evil was, what it wanted from his brother, but it was clear that it wanted Aramis away from them at the very least. But if Aramis could still fight it, if he could still recognize that there was something **to** fight, then there was still hope.

Elizabeth watched him pull away, working to keep the frown from her face. He should not have still been able to fight her like that. Her thrall should have been enough to keep him by her side, especially after spending all day in her company. This one was strong. Possibly stronger than any she had ever taken before. _Oh, she was going to enjoy breaking him._ Of course, he would not be quite so pretty by the time all was said and done but these things could not always be helped.

Porthos and d’Artagnan had not been ignorant of the silent struggle going on. They had watched Aramis have to almost force himself to approach Athos, each step seeming as if he were fighting against an invisible power that was determined to hold him back. Only when he was finally next to Athos once more did either man relax. 

Athos studied his brother as he approached. There was a tightness in Aramis’ eyes that he was not used to seeing aimed at at him. It was a look he was much more accustomed to seeing his brother give those men he found particularly disdainful. Usually about thirty seconds before he impaled them on his sword. Or put a musket ball between their eyes. 

“Wake me in three hours,” Athos told him. “I shall take second watch.”

“Am I to stand watch unarmed as well?” Aramis asked, purposefully goading.

“You are not unarmed,” Athos told him. “And we are nearby if anything should happen.”

“Still afraid I will have a _relapse_ , brother?” Aramis sneered.

“Yes, Aramis. I am still very much afraid of what might happen if your weapons are returned to you.” With that, Athos turned and walked back toward Porthos and d’Artagnan. Every instinct within him screamed at him for leaving his back open to a threat. He did not think Aramis was so far gone as to attack him. Not with Porthos and d’Artagnan looking on. At least he hoped not.


	22. Chapter 22

Part 22

Aramis did his best to completely ignore his brothers while he kept watch. He had caught his brothers casting glances his way, especially Porthos, and though he made sure to let them know that he saw them, he turned away every time. And while part of him thrilled at the hurt he saw blossom in the man’s eyes, deep inside he felt a knot form in the pit of his stomach, hot and tight and _painful_. 

It was actually a relief when the three of them took to their beds for the night. At least he no longer had to expend energy actively ignoring them. Instead, he could use that same energy to study them. He looked at Porthos, watching how restlessly he slept. He wondered what it was that disturbed his sleep so. He let his eyes move over to d’Artagnan and felt a surge of anger within him. His _Master_ was avoiding him, staying well away from him after calling him to heel back at the Chateau. 

As Aramis watched d’Artagnan sleep, he wondered what kind of sound the boy might make with one of his daggers pressed to his throat. Would he be as quiet and stoic as Athos? Would he rage and fight? Or would he beg for his life? As he mused, he thought it might be interesting to have them side by side, a dagger at each of their throats, just to see. Of course, while Athos would never beg for his own life, he would probably get down on his knees and lick Aramis’ boots for the Whelp’s. And wasn’t that a delicious thought? 

d’Artagnan was unsure what woke him. He could tell he had not been asleep for long, meaning Aramis was likely still on watch. That, he realized, could very well be the thing that had disturbed his sleep. Athos had passed on his warning earlier, telling d’Artagnan not to trust Aramis. It had hurt to hear that, to know that Athos himself did not trust their brother. 

Knowing he was not likely to fall back asleep until he discovered whatever had awoken him, he got up as quietly as he could so as not to disturb the others and went in search of Aramis. He found him sitting on a rock, overlooking the campsite. 

“You should be sleeping,” Aramis said as d’Artagnan approached.

“I find myself uneasy here,” d’Artagnan told him.

“Do you think me a danger as well, _Master_?” Aramis asked, the contempt in his voice at the title unmistakable.

“Little One,” d’Artagnan cautioned, glancing toward where Madame Bathory and her servant slept. “I told you before, if you no longer wish such a bond between us, you have only to say.”

“Really?” Aramis sneered. “You would simply release me from my vows to you as if I mean nothing at all?”

“You mean everything,” d’Artagnan told him quietly, not wanting to be overheard. “I love you, Little One. Which is why, when the time comes, I will let you go. No matter than it will likely wound me in ways that… Never mind. That is not important. The answer to your question is yes and no. Yes, I would release you from your vows to me but not as if you mean nothing. Never as that.”

“I suppose having Athos on his knees is whore enough even for you,” Aramis quipped.

In two angry strides d’Artagnan was by his side. He fisted his hand in Aramis’ hair and jerked his head back. “I do not know what is wrong with you, but you will **not** speak of your brother in such a manner,” d’Artagnan snarled, his temper flaring dangerously. “I do not care what you say about me. You may call me whatever names you wish, but you will treat Athos and Porthos with the respect they deserve. Do you understand me?”

“Y-y-yes. Yes, M-m-master,” Aramis stammered. He looked up into d’Artagnan’s eyes and felt something loosen inside of him. He blinked, confused, unsure suddenly why his Master was holding him so tightly while staring down at him so angrily. “What… what is… what is wrong with me?”

“I don’t know,” d’Artagnan said, releasing him. He was not sure if this was simply another tactic of Aramis’ or if he was really seeing his true brother. Either way, he could not take the chance on being wrong. Turning away, he headed back toward his bedroll. He paused and looked back over his shoulder one last time. “Make sure to wake Athos when it’s time for his watch.” 

Sleep did not come for d’Artagnan for the rest of the night. He lay awake, listening as Aramis woke Athos for his turn at watch. He was somewhat relieved when Aramis took up his bedroll next to Porthos, rather than moving closer to their guests. He waited until he was as sure as he could be that Aramis was actually asleep before he rose once more. 

He found Athos perched on the same rock Aramis had been. He sat down on the ground next to him, silent and brooding, glad for his brother’s patience for once. “We need to talk,” d’Artagnan finally said.

“And that is not disconcerting in the least,” Athos replied dryly.

“I spoke with Aramis tonight,” d’Artagnan continued.

“I take it that did not go well,” Athos said.

“He called you a whore, for one,” d’Artagnan replied, “so you tell me.”

“I see,” Athos said. Aramis’ words did not much bother him. He had been called much worse in his life with a great deal more truth behind it. Besides, he did not believe it was actually Aramis that was speaking such vile things. It did, however, bother him that d’Artagnan was having to deal with such vitriol from their brother. Especially in light of their rather unique relationship.

“I… I don’t know what is going on, Athos, but…”

“But?” Athos said when the other man fell silent.

“But, for a moment, I think he came back,” d’Artagnan said, his voice dropping down to a whisper. “Our Aramis. The real Aramis. He came back. He… he asked what was wrong with him. I mean, he could have been faking it but I don’t think he was.”

“How exactly did this happen, d’Artagnan?” Athos asked eagerly. If there was a way to help get their brother back, even briefly, he would take it. Anything that helped Aramis fight whatever this was they would gladly take.

“I… got angry,” d’Artagnan admitted. “I grabbed him by the hair and jerked his head back. I told him I did not care what he said about me but that he would show you and Porthos respect.”

“So it was similar to what happened at the Chateau,” Athos said.

“What do you mean?”

“When you got… firm with him,” Athos explained. “He seemed to come back to himself for a moment. It would seem, the more your exert your… Mastery of him, the more he can shake off whatever this other is.”

“I do not think me simply commanding him will be enough,” d’Artagnan said. “If so, he would not be able to sneer when he calls me Master.”

“No,” Athos agreed. “You will have to be quite forceful, I am afraid. Much more forceful than you would prefer. Much more forceful than Porthos and I would prefer. However, if it can somehow help him to come back, help him to fight this…”

“Then I will do it,” d’Artagnan said, closing his eyes at the thought. “You know that I will. There is nothing I will not do for him no matter the cost to me. But you must warn Porthos. I do not know how… firm… I will have to be. This may be hard for him to witness.”

“I will talk to Porthos,” Athos assured him. “Believe me, he wants Aramis back as badly as we do. Even temporarily. Every time he is able to fight it, I believe it gives him one more bit of himself to hold onto. We have to give him every inch we can.”

“When do you want to do this?” d’Artagnan asked him.

Athos thought for a moment then looked over at their travelling companions. They appeared to be sleeping soundly. This might be their only chance before reaching Paris. “Now,” Athos said. “I will wake Porthos and explain. Can you be ready?”

“Yes,” d’Artagnan replied reluctantly. He told himself he was doing this for Aramis’ sake. It did not matter if his brothers ended up hating him by the time this was all over with. As long as they got their brother back, it would be worth the cost.

“You will not lose him, lad,” Athos said, reading the fear in his eyes easily. 

“You do not know that,” d’Artagnan told him. “And it does not matter. I will do whatever I must to bring him back to us. If I alone can bear the cost of that then I will thank God for his mercy in this. Now go wake Porthos and let me try to prepare myself for this.”

Athos squeezed his shoulder tightly but said nothing else. Arguing with their stubborn Whelp was useless on a good day. Besides that, he was not at all sure they would not both end up losing Aramis by the time this business was finished. Moving to Porthos’ side, he woke him and quickly related their plain. He could see the trepidation in his eyes but he could see the understanding as well. Porthos understood what was at stake just as much as he and d’Artagnan did.

“You up to this, Whelp?” Porthos asked when he and Athos joined d’Artagnan. He did not ask if d’Artagnan was sure of their plan. He knew the boy was not, but if there was a chance he would take it. They all would. 

He had not wanted to admit it, that Aramis was being _affected_ by something. He remembered his own time trapped inside his body with something else in control. The thought of Aramis being subjected to such evil sickened him. Yet he could no longer deny what was before his very eyes.

“No, but what choice do I have?” d’Artagnan replied. 

“Strength,” Porthos told him, hugging him tightly for a moment. “We are here for you, brother. You can do this.”

d’Artagnan took a steadying breath and led the other two over to where Aramis was sleeping. He thought it best to take him by surprise, thinking the momentary confusion might work in their favor as well. Looking up at the two men with him, he paused. “Porthos, look away,” he whispered, not wanting the man to see what he was about to do.

“Lad…”

“Do it,” Athos whispered. He had an idea about what d’Artagnan was going to do and understood why he did not want Porthos to have to watch.

d’Artagnan waited until Porthos had turned his head away before slapping Aramis across the face hard causing him to come awake with a cry. d’Artagnan quickly fisted his hand in the man’s hair tightly and jerked his head back, baring his throat to the three of them. 

“Shut. Your. Mouth,” he snarled at Aramis when the man opened his mouth to speak, his eyes boring into Aramis’ own, looking for some sign that his lover was there.

Porthos had turned back around at the sound of flesh hitting flesh. He stared down in surprise as d’Artagnan growled in Aramis’ face menacingly. He could see the shock on the man’s face and felt his insides clench as he fought the desire to go to him.

Keeping his hand tightly wound in Aramis’ hair, d’Artagnan stood up, dragging Aramis up onto his knees. “We have had just about enough of your mouth, boy,” d’Artagnan growled menacingly at him. “Hands behind your back!”

Aramis complied at once, instinctively following his Master’s orders. He did not know what he had done to anger him so greatly but he would do whatever was necessary to make amends. He crossed his wrists behind his back and was surprised when Athos quickly knelt down behind him and bound them. He let his eyes glance over at Porthos for a moment and the guarded look he saw on the other man’s face made fear grip his heart.

“Mas-master?” Aramis whispered. “What… what did I… Please, Master… What have I done?”

“Aramis? Are you with us?” Athos asked anxiously. He knew they likely did not have much time before whatever it was reasserted its control.

Aramis stared at him for moment then looked back and forth between the three of them as much as d’Artagnan’ unrelenting grip on his hair would allow. “I… oh God,” he moaned. “It… it is _inside_ me. It coils inside me. Please, brothers. _Please_. Even now, I can feel it. It… it twists my words. It twists everything inside of me.”

“Do you know what it is?” Athos asked urgently.

“No,” Aramis choked. “Darkness. Evil. _Please_. It rots my very soul, Athos. Please. You know what you must do, brothers.”

“No,” Porthos spat and knelt down in front of Aramis. He grabbed him by the shirt and shook him hard, causing him to wince when it nearly caused d’Artagnan to pull out some of his hair. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to give up. You hear me? You fight this, damn you!”

“Porthos,” Aramis gasped, tears pooling in his eyes. “Porthos, I cannot. I have tried.”

“Try harder,” Porthos told him, refusing to accept that Aramis might already be lost to them. “We love you. We will fight for you, brother.”

Aramis opened his mouth to tell him that he loved them, too, that he would fight with everything that he had when he felt claws, sharp as razors and black as pitch, sink into his very soul, tearing him away from himself again and forcing him back down. He had a moment to regret that he did not get to tell them that he loved them before the darkness swirled inside of him again, smothering his soul and turning the love he felt for these men into something perverse.

Aramis closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them again, the darkness was once more in control. He smirked at Porthos, pleased when the big man recoiled as if struck. “You’ll fight for me, will you?” he purred. “Or did you mean to say you’ll fight _over_ me? I mean, look at me. I’m all trussed up. Unarmed. Surrounded. Which one of you plans to take his pleasure first?”

d’Artagnan knew then that they had lost him once again. While he did not blame Aramis for the things he said and did, he would not stand idly by and watch him hurt his brothers. Jerking his head back even further, he stared down into his eyes. “Shut. Your. Mouth,” he said again, putting every drop of menace he could into his voice. “I warned you about showing your brothers respect. You will do so.”

“And if I do not?” Aramis challenged, testing the rope binding his wrists for any give. Athos, however, had tied him quite well. He would not be getting free until one of them let him loose.

“Then I shall have you kept bound and gagged until we reach Paris,” d’Artagnan told him. “The choice is yours, Aramis. Do you wish what limited freedom you have been allowed thus far, or would you prefer stay ‘trussed up’ as you put it?”

“I promise you, _boy_ , you will regret this,” Aramis vowed.

“As I have said, I do not care what you say to me, but you will show them respect. Now, do we have an understanding?”

“Yes, you son of a whore,” Aramis spat.

d’Artagnan looked at him a moment longer then nodded. He released his hair and stood back. He reached down and took Aramis’ daggers from him before allowing Athos to free the man. At the moment, he would not trust Aramis with a toothpick, let alone a pair of sharpened and highly accurate daggers.


	23. Chapter 23

Part 23

Elizabeth smiled into the darkness, pleased that she had been able to subdue the priest once more. At least now she knew why he had been able to stage his little rebellions in the first place. Called the boy _‘Master’_ , did he? Well, she would just have to see about that. 

As she continued to lay still in the dark, not wanting to alert them that she was awake and thus privy to what had gone on, she went over her plans. She had known she would have to fight to turn the priest. He was strong, even with his faith cracked, as it were. It appeared, however, that he drew a great deal of that strength from those around him. If she could somehow break those bonds then she was sure the priest would be hers for the taking. 

She knew she could simply kill them but that could very well have the exact opposite effect, serving to strengthen the priest’s resolve. No, she had to break what was between them and she needed to start with his Master. He was the youngest of them, the one they seemed most protective of. Hurting him, or better still – causing Aramis to hurt him, would drive a very definite wedge between them. And she would be waiting when it did to fill that gap and bind him to her so tightly he would not ever want to leave.

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

d’Artagnan did not sleep any more that night. He thought the only reason the others did was pure emotional exhaustion. He was tired as well but knew he would not be able to find peace after what he had done. Knowing that, he had told Athos he would take the remainder of the watches and for the others to simply rest as much as they could. He had a feeling the rest of the trip to Paris was not going to be an easy one, not with Aramis seething at them the way he was.

He could still feel the sting in his palm from where he had struck the man. He had done it full strength, meaning for it to hurt. He had needed the shock of it but also for Aramis, and the thing inside of Aramis, to realize that he was serious. From his capitulation, he supposed he had achieved that much. 

d’Artagnan had thought he was prepared for it. He had thought he was braced to see the anger in Aramis’ eyes directed at him. He had never been more wrong in all his life. The anger and hatred he had seen reflected back at him at the end had nearly staggered him. He had known his time with his Little One was limited. He had known it would not last forever. He had never dreamed it would be this short. He had never dreamed it would end this… cruelly. 

Still, he had meant what he had said to Athos. If the damage could be confined to him, if they could somehow escape this nightmare with only his relationship with Aramis in tatters, then he _would_ be grateful and thank God for such a mercy. And while he knew his brother would never truly forsake him, if Aramis needed space from him after this, d’Artagnan would not blame him. He could always return to the Maison… or remain in Paris while they returned. Either way, the choice would be theirs. And while he would not focus on an unknown future, would not borrow trouble as it were, he had to make himself ready for the worst. If he did not, if he was not prepared, then it could very well destroy him.

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

The remainder of the trip back to Paris was surprisingly uneventful, if somewhat tense. Aramis refused to even acknowledge his brothers’ existence, staying with Madame Bathory and Ficzko for the entire ride. Athos, aggravated and worried for Aramis, had pushed harder than he normally would have with a woman along and they managed to make the city shortly before nightfall.

“Madame, I am afraid we must part company here,” Athos told her, his tone of voice leaving no room for argument.

“Surely Aramis…” Elizabeth began, trying despite it.

“Is required to report to the garrison immediately with the rest of us,” Athos interrupted somewhat rudely. “I do apologize, but we are in the midst of an investigation into the abduction of missing children. Surely you understand the gravity of the situation.”

“Of course, Monsieur Athos,” she replied, tipping her head in acquiescence. She knew he was not going to budge on this and there was no use fighting him on it and raising his suspicions. She was well aware of what Aramis had told them the prior night and what he had not. She did not need him making the connection between the ‘darkness’ inside of his brother and her. Not yet anyway.

“Thank you for your understanding, Madame,” he said then turned toward the others. “Aramis. Brothers. Let us be off. The Captain is awaiting our report.”

They turned their horses over to the stable boys and headed straight for Treville’s office. Aramis was seething at Athos’ continued treatment of him. He was not some errant child to be led about by the scruff of the neck and if he persisted in this, Aramis would be more than happy to school him on such. Perhaps a few additional scars would teach him to show the proper respect. He would have to think about where to put them, though. His back was already quite the tapestry, after all.

They entered the Captain’s office, again without knocking, making Treville frown when he looked up. Porthos closed the door behind them and barred it, giving the Captain the smallest shake of his head when he started to open his mouth.

Aramis must have seen something in Treville’s face because he spun around angrily. He took a step toward Porthos and d’Artagnan acted. He closed the space between them, neatly cutting Aramis off from Porthos. He saw the man’s hand reach behind his back, instinctively going for the dagger that, luckily for d’Artagnan, was not there. Telling himself this was **not** Aramis, he punched him twice, hard and fast, and watched the man he had sworn to protect drop at his feet.

“What the hell is going on here?” Treville demanded hotly, shooting to his feet and going for his musket. 

“Sir, I can explain,” Athos told him. “But we must secure Aramis first. It is… it is dangerous to leave him unrestrained.”

It took a moment for Athos’ words to register but when they did Treville paled and sat back down hard. “He is…?”

“Something has him in its grip,” Athos confirmed as he knelt down and bound Aramis’ wrists behind him for the second time. “Something… other. We do not, as yet, know what. All Aramis has been able to tell us is that it is inside him. He described it as a darkness and evil.”

“He said it was rotting his soul,” Porthos added softly from where he stood by the door. He had not moved, choosing to stay rooted in place rather than take the chance on interfering with what needed to be done. It had taken everything in him not to stop the Whelp from knocking Aramis out, even though he understood perfectly well that it had to be done.

“This priest you’ve introduced him to,” Athos said. “Can he help?”

“I certainly hope so,” Treville said rising once more. He went over to the chest he kept by the window and withdrew a blanket. “Wrap him in this. We don’t need the entire garrison seeing us carrying him out of here. We’ll take him to Father Michel now. If he can’t help us he may know of someone who can.”

Athos quickly wrapped Aramis in the proffered blanket and Porthos came over and picked him up. Throughout it all, d’Artagnan had remained silent. He could feel Athos and Treville both looking at him but he did not have the strength to deal with them. Not right now. Right now, everything he had was focused on getting Aramis back again.

“Where to?” Porthos asked, anxious to get Aramis to wherever it was they were going. The boy had knocked him out good but there was still no way to know how long he would stay that way. 

“Saint-Severin,” Treville replied. “Do you know where it is?”

“Yeah,” Porthos nodded and waited for Athos to open the door.

“d’Artagnan,” Treville called, stopping them all. “I think it would be best if you went home.”

“What?” d’Artagnan asked incredulously.

“It is not you, lad,” Treville said. “But we do not know what we are dealing with here and… and I do not think Constance should be on her own right now.”

“Surely Constance would not be in danger,” Athos said, frowning.

“I sincerely hope not,” Treville replied. “But I would not have thought you lot in danger of this either. Especially Aramis. I will not make it an order, son. They are your brothers. If you feel your place is by their side then so be it.”

“Do you truly think there could be some danger to Constance or do you simply not want me there?” d’Artagnan asked him bluntly.

“As much as I genuinely do not want you to have to witness what is likely to happen, it is truly my concern for Constance that makes me ask such a thing of you,” Treville said. “I would never do so otherwise.”

“I will go home,” d’Artagnan told them. “If you have need of us, send word and we will come immediately.”

“Perhaps it would best if I went home and d’Artagnan went to the church…” Athos began to offer but d’Artagnan was already shaking his head at that.

“He needs you more than me, Athos,” d’Artagnan said. “You have been with him longer. Your bond is stronger. Your _love_ is stronger. Besides, Porthos is going to need your strength as well. No, we are best served this way. Just tell him…”

“What?” Athos prompted.

“Never mind,” d’Artagnan shook his head sadly. “Go. Get our brother back. I will be awaiting you at home.” With that, Athos unbarred the door and was moving down the steps as quickly as he could without actually running. 

They made it to Saint-Severin without anyone questioning the large, man-shaped bundle in Porthos’ arms. The twin scowls Porthos and Athos wore, coupled with Treville’s own thunderous countenance probably had a great deal to do with that. Fortunately, Father Michel was alone in the church when they arrived. Saint-Severin was not a large church and this late in the evening it was not uncommon for the priest to be the only one in attendance.

“What has happened?” Father Michel asked as soon as saw Treville. He registered the others a moment later. When he took in the bundle in Porthos’ arms he gasped. “Aramis?”

“Something has… taken hold of him,” Athos said. 

“We need your help, old friend,” Treville said.

“He’s starting to come around,” Porthos told them as he felt Aramis start to move in his arms. “Do you think it’s because we’re here, in a church?”

“It is difficult to tell,” Athos replied. “He could simply be coming around from d’Artagnan’s punch.”

“You rendered him unconscious for the trip here?” Michel asked.

“We thought it prudent,” Athos explained. “He is not himself. Aramis… he can be a very dangerous man when he wishes to.”

“I see,” Michel said. “Then let us get to work on restoring him. God needs his warriors, gentlemen. He will not lose this one. Set him down on one of the pews near the middle of the church.”

“Why the middle?” Porthos asked as he moved to comply with the priest’s order.

“It is the farthest from any religious item,” Michel explained. “I wish to note his overall state when he awakens fully before doing anything else.”

It was not long before Father Michel got his wish as once Aramis began to come around he did so quickly. He shook his head, looking about him at first. When he tried to pull his hands from behind him and found them bound, he snarled. “Decided to have some fun anyway, brothers?” he sneered. “I don’t see the boy. He not up to fucking in a church?”

Treville actually recoiled at the hostility of Aramis’ words. He had never heard such from the man and had not been expecting it even after the others had warned him. The fact that Athos and Porthos did not so much as flinch told him that they had likely been dealing with this for days now. He did not know how they had managed to keep themselves together. To hear such vitriol from their brother had to be bad enough, but to hear it from their lover had to be so much worse.

“You will show respect in God’s house,” Michel told him calmly, locking eyes with him.

“And what will you do if I don’t?” Aramis snorted. “Make me say ten Hail Mary’s? Or did you have a different sort of penance in mind? How long has it been since you’ve had your knob polished, _Father_?”

“You will show respect in God’s house,” Michel repeated just as calmly. “Or these men will make you. The choice is yours.” He knew he was taking a chance here. Michel was not entirely sure these men _could_ make Aramis comply, but he had a feeling they could. Something had kept him in line enough to get him back to Paris. He rather thought it was these men.

Aramis’ only reply was to glare hotly at the priest. In his mind, he imagined all sorts of things he could do to the old man before finally slitting his throat. And he would make Treville watch while he did it, too. 

“That is better,” Michel told him. “Now, can you tell me how you feel?”

“Like splitting your skull open?” Aramis said, using his sweetest voice.

“He’s agitated,” Athos told the priest. “He’s trying to hide it, but he has tells he has never been able to completely rid himself of. Not since Savoy.”

“Oh I shall make you **pay** for that, brother,” Aramis snarled.

“If you do not think I am paying right now, brother, then you know me not all,” Athos replied softly.

“Is he more agitated than he was when you first arrived at Treville’s office?” Michel asked.

“Yes,” Athos confirmed. “He has not been this agitated since we first suggested leaving Le Chateau de Bathory.”

“Is it being in God’s house that bothers you, Aramis?” Michel asked.

“It is being knocked unconscious for no reason, restrained and surrounded by men I thought I could trust,” Aramis spat. “Is that not reason enough for one to be agitated?”

“You know you can trust these men,” Michel reasoned. 

“Bullshit! They’ve trussed me up like this twice now. Is it that you like seeing me bound and helpless? Is that it, Athos? Does it turn you on? Make you hard to think of me completely at your mercy? What about you, Porthos? I thought you loved me.”

“Enough,” Michel said. He would not stand here and listen to whatever this was tear into Aramis’ lovers in such a way. “Bring him to the altar.”

“No!” Aramis shouted, twisting to try to get away as Porthos and Athos both reached for him. They each took an arm and hoisted him up. Aramis tried to kick at them, landing on against Porthos’ knee. He only grunted at the pain and kept walking him toward the altar where Father Michel waited.

“What can I do?” Treville asked as he moved beside the priest.

“They will have to hold him down,” Michel said. He pulled out a chalice of wine and plate of wafers and set them aside. “You will assist me. That is Communion wine and Host. We will use them to try to cleanse him of whatever has tried to take hold.”

“He told the others that it was inside of him,” Treville told the priest. “He described it as darkness and evil.”

“Did he say anything else?” the priest asked. “Anything at all?”

“He said it was rotting his soul,” Treville told him, though he had not wanted to, afraid the priest might say it was already too late.

“As long as one man still has hope then all hope is not lost,” Michel told him. “Remember that. His brothers will not abandon him. Neither shall we.”

They managed to get Aramis to the altar and lifted him onto it at the priest’s direction, untying his hands so they could hold his arms over his head. Aramis twisted and fought as if being laid over hot coals. Athos had to wonder if that was not what it was somehow like for him and had to swallow against the sudden bile in his throat.

“Aramis, can you hear me?” Michel said, leaning down closer to the young man. 

“I can hear you just fine, priest,” Aramis snapped. “I’ll be able to hear you even better when you’re screaming at my feet. At least until I slit your throat, then I’ll only be able to hear the sweet gurgling sound you’ll…”

“He told you to show respect,” Athos ground out, grabbing Aramis by the hair and jerking his head down onto the altar hard. 

“We shall cleanse this evil from you, son,” Michel told him. “Do not have fear. God is with you. He will never abandon you. He will give you the strength you need to overcome this.”

“Your god is weak, priest,” Aramis gasped out, writhing on the altar hard enough that Athos and Porthos had to strain to hold him. 

“He is your God, too, Aramis,” Michel told him then looked over at Athos. “Where are his cross and rosary?”

“I don’t know,” Athos said shaking his head. “I did not realize he was not wearing them.”

Michel pulled his own rosary from around his neck and brought it to his lips. He kissed it then moved to slip it over Aramis’ head. He moved carefully, moving with Aramis as he thrashed wildly in an effort to stop him.

The scream Aramis let out when the rosary settled over his neck nearly caused his brothers to lose their grip on him. Treville had to dive across the man to hold him down while they tightened their holds once more. When Athos nodded that they had him, he stood back up beside Michel and stared down at his Musketeer.

“Take it off!” Aramis wailed, jerking in their grasps. The rosary burned like a brand where it touched him, searing his flesh. He almost expected to see smoke rising from his body where the damnable thing lay. “Please, brothers. _Please._ It hurts.”

“Whatever you’re going to do, get on with it,” Porthos told the priest, unsure how much more of this he could take. Listening to Aramis beg them for help, beg him for help, was not something he could endure. Not and remain sane. 

“The chalice,” Michel told Treville, holding out his hand.

Treville complied quickly, taking the silver chalice of Communion wine and handing it to Michel. He did not know how the priest thought he was going to get Aramis to drink it but he trusted the man. He only hoped whatever he was going to do would be enough.

“Hold his mouth open if you can,” Michel instructed.

Moving around to the head of the altar, Treville placed one hand on Aramis’ forehead and the other on his chin. He looked down and saw the rage in his eyes. God help them all if they failed in this. He waited until Michel had the chalice next to Aramis’ face then forced his jaw open. It was harder than it should have been, Aramis gaining strength from somewhere, but Treville had leverage on his side. 

As soon as his mouth was pried open, Michel tipped the chalice forward and poured some of the sacred wine into the young man’s mouth. He moved the chalice away quickly and nodded to Treville who forced Aramis’ mouth closed the same way he had forced it open, leaving the man no choice but to swallow.

“Should I…” Treville began but Michel shook his head stopping him.

“Stay where you are,” the priest said. He reached for the Host and broke off a piece of it. He brought it over as he had done the chalice. He saw the wild look in Aramis’ eyes when he realized what he had in his hand. 

“No,” Aramis moaned, looking up at the three men at the head of the altar. “Please, do not let him do this. Please. Porthos… Porthos, do not let him hurt me. Please…”

Porthos let out a sob as Aramis begged him for help once more but he did not lessen his grip. He knew, if the thing inside of him was reduced to begging, that they were close. He would not falter now. He would not fail his brother. Not in this.

Father Michel steeled himself then nodded to Treville. The Captain moved quickly, shoving Aramis’ head down hard and prying his mouth open. Michel shoved the Host inside and, together with Treville, they forced his mouth closed around it. Michel laid his body across the writhing form that lay on his altar. Aramis was jerking and twisting wildly, screaming even though his mouth was clamped tightly shut.

All at once, Aramis arched up then collapsed back down on the altar, completely still. Only the fact that Michel still lay across his chest and could hear his too rapid heartbeat let him know that the man still lived. 

“Did he pass out?” Porthos asked. He almost hoped he did. Anything would be better than watching his lover thrashing as if he were on fire while they held him down. 

“I don’t know,” Athos said. “But do not slacken your grip. Not yet.”

After a moment, Father Michel stood back up. He motioned for Treville to release his hold on Aramis’ head and rejoin him at the side of the altar. They continued to watch the young man laid out before them, waiting for him to come around.

Aramis groaned. His head ached, ached in a way it had not since Savoy. It made him wonder if he had taken some sort of head wound that he could not recall. He tried to reach for his head, to check for a bandage, and found his wrists held tight. His eyes flew open then and he found himself looking up into the very worried faces of his brothers. 

“What… what happened?” he rasped, his voice scratchy and hoarse though he could not recall why.

“Aramis?” Athos queried. “Are you back with us?”

“Back?” Aramis asked. “Was I… away?” He looked back and forth between Athos and Porthos and saw a mix of worry and fear and… doubt. Suddenly, a wave of pain struck Aramis and he gasped and moaned.

“Aramis? What’s wrong?” Porthos asked.

“Stomach,” Aramis gasped. “Sick…” He tugged his hands again weakly and was surprised when they let him go. He managed to roll over and had just enough time to realize he had been lying on the altar at Saint-Severin before his stomach began to cramp and he began to vomit.

Aramis slid off the altar and onto his knees as pain until any he had ever felt wracked his body. A viscous, black fluid spewed from his mouth covering the church floor as he was sick. Over and over again, he heaved as more and more of the black fluid forced its way out of him. By the time he finally stopped, he was shaking so hard it felt like he would fly apart at any moment.

“Holy Mary, Mother of God,” Father Michel said as he took in the black fluid staining his church floor. The black fluid that had just come out of the young man who knelt shaking in front of his altar. “Aramis… son…”

“Father Michel?” Aramis questioned.

“Yes, son,” Michel replied. “Has it left you? Are you free now?”

“I… I… Yes,” Aramis finally said. “I… the darkness… it is gone.”

“Thank God,” Michel said and crossed himself.

“You two, get him home,” Treville told Athos and Porthos. “I’ll come round in a day or so to check on you.”

“Sir, what about…” Athos gestured to the mess all over the once pristine church.

“I’ll help the good Father with this,” Treville assured him. “You have something much more important to take care of.”

“Yes, Sir,” Athos said, then turned to the priest. “There are no words that can express our gratitude…”

“None are needed,” Michel told him. “Just… take care of him. He is a good man that has been sorely tested far too many times. Even God’s strongest will break if the burden is great enough.”

“We will not allow that to happen,” Athos promised.

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

Aramis did not remember much of the trip from Saint- Severin to their home. Athos and Porthos kept him firmly between them. They even went so far as to keep hold of him, not caring that they were in public and how it might look. Aramis was too far gone to even notice and let himself be led through the streets as he tried to make sense of everything that had happened.

When they got home they found d’Artagnan and Constance at the kitchen table. d’Artagnan was on his feet as soon as the door opened and he helped them usher Aramis inside. They went straight to the sitting room, knowing Aramis would be more comfortable there than the kitchen. They quickly had him settled on the sofa with a blanket wrapped around him. Athos and Porthos sat on either side of him. d’Artagnan chose to sit in the floor a few feet away, earning him a frown from Athos and Porthos, but he ignored them in favor of concentrating on Aramis.

“Is he… better?” Constance dared to ask. d’Artagnan had filled her in on what had happened. He had told her about the thing inside of Aramis and had cautioned her not to trust him. She had tried to disregard it, assuring him that Aramis would never harm her. d’Artagnan had then told her about Aramis going for his dagger in Treville’s office. She had paled at his words but had not tried to discount them again. 

“Yes,” Porthos said and Athos nodded his agreement. “The priest, Father Michel, he was able to get it out of him. He got sick and this… this black stuff came out of him.”

“Oh,” Constance gasped, her hand going to her mouth. She could hardly imagine such a horrible thing and to have it happen to Aramis of all people. She felt tears well in her eyes and had to fight to keep them from falling. She knew he felt bad enough without her making him feel even worse.

“Aramis, how do you feel?” d’Artagnan asked from his place on the floor. He had been watching them all, but mostly Aramis. The man had not spoken since his arrival, something that was quite worrisome in and of itself.

“Exhausted,” Aramis replied. “Utterly spent. Confused.”

“Confused about what?” d’Artagnan asked. 

“I am not stupid,” Aramis said. “I realize that I was… well, under the influence of something. You took me to Father Michel and he helped rid me of it. Thank you for that.”

“But…” d’Artagnan prompted.

“But I do not seem to recall anything,” Aramis said. “I know it must be true. You would not have done that if it were not. Neither would he. And then there is the matter of the black substance I vomited all over his church floor. But I have no recollection of anything prior to that.”

“What is the last thing you do remember?” Athos asked.

Aramis thought for some few minutes, trying to sort out his jumbled memories. “We were at Le Chateau de Bathory,” he said. “d’Artagnan and I were sleeping. I was restless, could not sleep, so I got up. I went for a walk about the manor. I think I ended up at the chapel, but I am not sure. That is the last clear memory I have. Everything else is only bits and pieces, fragments and shards that could be real or could be no more than dreams.”

“Constance, I think it would be best if you left us for the night,” Athos said.

“What? Why?” she demanded, bristling.

“Because what we tell Aramis will be very painful for him to hear,” Athos explained. “The sharing of it should be his choice.”

“Of course,” she said, forcing herself to calm down. Aramis was entitled to his secrets. She would not demand them of him as if she were somehow entitled. “If you need me, I am right upstairs.”

Athos waited until he heard her door close before turning his attention back to Aramis. Slowly, he began to walk Aramis through the events following that night. He wished his brother did not have to recall such things. If he thought, for one moment, that Aramis would never remember, he would leave it be, but he simply could not take the chance of those memories surfacing at the exact wrong moment. 

In the end, Athos did not have to say much. He got so far as talking about Aramis’ fit of pique after questioning Leon before Aramis cried out, his eyes widening as his memories came back in a horrible rush. 

He remembered snapping at first Porthos then Athos over wanting to leave. 

He remembered how disrespectful he had been to his Master. 

He remembered telling Porthos that his relationships with the others were a _mistake_ and he remembered the look in Athos’ eyes afterward. 

He had openly flirted with the Comtesse in full view of his lovers. 

He had called Athos a whore. 

He had accused Porthos of not loving him.

He had threatened his Master. 

And what he had said while in Saint-Severin… 

But the worst, the absolute worst, were the fantasies he had entertained. He remembered thinking of his knife at Athos’ throat and then d’Artagnan’s. He remembered thinking of making Athos beg for d’Artagnan’s life and everything within him wanted to fold in on itself. If there had been anything left inside of him to bring up, he would have been sick right then and there.

All three men could only watch as Aramis’ memories returned. They watched as horror and revulsion filled his face and ached to comfort him. d’Artagnan wanted nothing more than to pull his Little One into his arms and comfort him, but he had forfeited that right. It was why he had seated himself on the floor. It was as far from Aramis as he could force himself to be at the moment. 

Athos and Porthos both reached for Aramis at the same time, unable to watch his pain and not react to it. Aramis, however, shied away from their touch, shaking his head wildly. “Stay… stay back,” he nearly shouted, holding his hands out in a warding gesture.

“Aramis?” Athos called, unsure what to do.

“Oh God. Oh God, what have I done?” Aramis lamented. “What have I done?”

“Nothing,” Porthos told him sternly. “You did nothing. It was that thing inside you. We know it was. You know it, too. Or are you going to tell me you’re responsible anyway? ‘Cause if you are, then I guess that makes me…”

“No,” Aramis gasped. “That was…”

“The same bloody thing,” Porthos growled. “We knew it wasn’t you. We knew that. All of us.”

“He is right,” Athos agreed. “We knew. And though it did hurt to hear those words from you, it hurt because there was always the smallest kernel of truth within them and because they preyed upon those things we fear the most.”

“I did not mean them,” Aramis said desperately, tears falling freely down his face. “I swear to God above I did not mean them. You are my life. All of you. Please, please, tell me you believe that.”

“We do,” Athos told him, reaching out to touch him. This time Aramis allowed it and Athos pressed himself close to his side, letting him feel his presence. Porthos did the same to his other side, bracketing him between them.

“d’Ar-d’Artagnan?” Aramis called, seeing the younger man still holding himself away from them.

“I am here, Aramis,” d’Artagnan told him. “All is well, as Athos said.”

“Then why do you stay so far away?” Aramis asked. “I know my behavior…”

“Don’t,” d’Artagnan cut in sharply, turning away and causing Aramis to suck in a breath in surprise.

“d’Artagnan,” Athos snapped. He had not expected the boy of all people to hold Aramis’ acts against him. No, d’Artagnan would never do that, especially not to Aramis. Something else was driving this. “Talk to us, lad. We cannot help you if we do not understand the problem.”

d’Artagnan sighed but he did turn back to face them. “There is nothing to help with,” he said. “What is done, is done.”

“So I have lost you after all,” Aramis said flatly, pain cutting through him like a knife.

“I would rather think that would be a comfort after everything.”

Aramis stared at him as if he had grown a third eye in the center of his head. He very nearly reached up to make sure he had not. He could see Athos looking at him rather incredulously as well. Porthos was the only one who looked at him with any sort of understanding.

“Whelp, he’s not going to hold that against you,” Porthos told him. “You did what you had to do to help him hold on to himself. None of us are going to blame you for that.”

“Master?” Aramis queried softly. He felt an ache when d’Artagnan actually flinched. 

“I struck you,” d’Artagnan said, his voice strangled, as if the words were stuck in his throat and he was having to force them out. “While you were sleeping and defenseless. It was the grossest of abuse. Master is no longer a title I am fit to call my own.”

Aramis looked absolutely devastated. Athos could commiserate. If any of them were to tell him that they were leaving him he would probably look the same. Not that d’Artagnan had said he was leaving Aramis. No, what the boy had said was somehow worse. And the sad part was, Athos could understand where d’Artagnan was coming from as well. For the boy had abused his position as Aramis’ Master. It did not matter that he had done it to try to save the man. The circumstances, while they might excuse the actions, did not, in fact, change them.

“Enough,” Athos said softly. “We are all exhausted and overwrought. Let us get some rest for tonight. We can continue this conversation in the morning.”


	24. Chapter 24

Part 24

Sleep did not come easy for any of them that night. They stayed together simply because they could not stand the thought of being apart. Not now. d’Artagnan took the space against the wall, leaving Athos in the middle with Aramis. Athos did not fight him on it, letting it go for the time being. If the boy did not see sense come morning, he and Porthos would step in. He may not fully understand this side of their relationship, but one thing he did understand was that Aramis needed it. It had become vital to him, and to d’Artagnan as well Athos suspected. And while he could understand the boy’s guilt, it had no place here. Aramis needed him. He needed his Master and d’Artagnan needed to honor the vows he had made when he first accepted that title.

Athos was also well aware that he and Porthos were not blameless in this. They had been somewhat resistant to the pair’s arrangement from the beginning. Athos had to wonder how heavily their perceived disapproval weighed on their youngest. And he was still terribly young. Yet he had withstood trial after trial, shouldering their burdens when they could not without complaint. Was it any surprise the lad had finally stumbled? Athos only wished it could have been himself to bear the pain of it rather than Aramis. Once they got this mess straightened out, they would see to d’Artagnan properly. Their Whelp was long overdue for some care from all of all of them.

Years of being a soldier ensured that Athos awoke early each morning regardless of how little sleep he had gotten the night before. The others were much the same. It was a testament to how exhausted, both mentally and physically, they were that only Athos and Porthos found themselves awake, especially since d’Artagnan tended to be up and about long before any of them.

“Come,” Athos whispered. “Let us not disturb what little rest they manage to get.”

They rose from the bed as quietly as they could and dressed, then made their way down to the kitchen. Constance was just finishing preparing breakfast when they entered. She froze for a moment when she saw them then rushed forward, throwing her arms around first Porthos then Athos. “I’ve been so worried about you all,” she told them.

“We are alright,” Athos assured her.

“Do not lie to me,” she said. “You are anything but alright. I can see it all over your faces. It’s… it’s Aramis, isn’t it?”

“Somewhat,” Athos replied. “And d’Artagnan.”

Porthos watched the color drain from her face and nudged Athos hard. What the hell was he thinking, telling her something was wrong with the two most important men in her life? “It’s nothing like that now,” Porthos said. “They’re fine. Things got a little rough and the Whelp’s having some trouble dealing with it, that’s all.”

“But… I mean… Surely he does not blame Aramis for anything,” she said, appalled at the very idea.

“No,” Athos told her sadly. “He does, however, blame himself for certain actions he had to take without Aramis’ permission.”

“Does Aramis blame him?” she asked.

“No,” Athos replied.

“Do you two blame him?”

“No.”

“Then why…”

“Because he is d’Artagnan,” Athos said. “There are… other factors… as well that play a part. In short, too much has been asked of him for far too long. We _will_ be rectifying that. But to pull back is instinctual with him. That is, I believe, what he is doing now.”

“Yeah,” Porthos said, scrubbing a hand over his face wearily. “But Aramis _needs_ him.”

“Yes. He does,” Athos agreed. “Which is why, if he has not come to his senses this, we will step in.”

“You have a plan, I take it?” Porthos asked.

“Oh yes,” Athos nodded. “But you are not going to like it.” Athos watched as Porthos expression grew more and more wary as he explained his plan. By the time he was half way done, Porthos was shaking his head. Even Constance was looking at him rather doubtfully.

“If either of you have a better idea, I am all ears,” Athos told them. 

“I can’t, Athos,” Porthos told him. 

“You have no choice,” Athos replied.

“I can’t hit him,” Porthos argued stubbornly.

“Fine,” Athos said. “Then who would you recommend I ask to do so?”

“What?” Porthos snapped.

“I will be restraining d’Artagnan,” Athos explained again. “If you are unwilling to discipline Aramis then I will have to get someone else to do it. Who would you recommend I ask?”

Porthos looked at him for long moments then looked away. He swallowed against the sudden bile filling his mouth then had to swallow again. He could not believe Athos was asking this of him. “How is this supposed to help them?” he asked desperately. “How is me… me beating Aramis supposed to fix anything?”

“First of all, brother, you will not be beating him,” Athos told him gently. “Second, I believe it will provide the impetus to prove to d’Artagnan that he is, indeed, still Aramis’ Master.”

“How?” Porthos asked again.

“Do you truly believe Aramis is going to allow anyone other than his Master to discipline him?” Athos asked. “Even us? He will fight it. He will fight you.”

“Do you know what you’re saying?” Porthos asked him, stunned. “The boy’s murderously protective of Aramis on a _good_ day. You want to hold them both down and make him watch somebody beating him?”

“Again, you will not be beating him,” Athos replied.

“I doubt the Whelp is going to see it that way.”

After hashing out their plan, Athos bade Constance to take herself off for the day. He had no idea how things were going to go and he did not want her to get caught in the crossfire, nor did he want her to have to see Aramis brought so low. Once she was out of the house, Athos went up to Constance’s room to retrieve her hairbrush. He was going to have to buy her a new one after this. 

He carried the brush into the sitting room and set it down on the sofa in plain sight. He wanted to make sure both Aramis and d’Artagnan saw it when they walked into the room. He saw Porthos flinch at the sight of hit and squeezed the back of his neck. “Steady, brother,” Athos told him. “I thought you would prefer it to the feel of your hand striking him.”

“Yeah,” Porthos nodded. “Yeah, I would.”

“I do not think you will have to strike him very much before d’Artagnan acts,” Athos said, trying to reassure him.

“And if he does not?” Porthos said. 

“Then we shall think of something else,” Athos told him. “We will not allow Aramis to suffer in this way. We will not allow either of them to suffer. But I truly do not believe it will come to that. d’Artagnan is, as you said, quite protective of Aramis. He will not stand by and watch another mete out discipline in his stead.”

“I hope to God you are right about this, Athos,” Porthos told him. “Let’s go and wake them before I lose my nerve.”

They climbed the stairs quickly but quietly, not wanting their sudden approach to startle the pair. Aramis was still visibly on edge, understandable under the circumstances, especially since he could not turn to his Master for help. 

“Let me do the talking,” Athos whispered to Porthos. He was not sure just what he was going to say. Their reactions would determine how harsh he felt he needed to be. He had purposely not given Porthos the details, knowing the man was having a hard enough time with this. If he knew what Athos planned to threaten Aramis with he would most certainly balk.

Entering the room, they found both men still asleep. Without Athos in the middle, Aramis had naturally gravitated toward d’Artagnan. It tore at their hearts to see him reaching for the younger man even in his sleep and knowing that d’Artagnan did not feel he could reach back. At least not in the way that Aramis truly needed him to.

Nodding at Porthos, Athos stood by the foot of the bed and watched while he woke the two men. Aramis came awake quickly, though he was a bit confused upon waking. d’Artagnan came awake quickly as well, his eyes darting around the room in near panic until they landed on Aramis beside him.

“What is it?” d’Artagnan asked, unsure why their brothers had woken them. He did not mind so much that they had gotten him up but Aramis needed his rest.

“There are things we need to discuss with Aramis,” Athos began formally. “We thought you would like to be present.”

d’Artagnan frowned at him and looked over at Porthos. The blank mask the man wore told him he was hiding something and he turned his attention back to Athos. “And this could not wait?” he asked, angrily. “He is exhausted. He needs rest, not questions.”

“I do not believe that is for you to decide,” Athos said. “Unless, of course, you have changed your position on being his Master. If that is the case, then all you need do is say so and we shall take the matter of his discipline up with you.”

“I beg your pardon?” d’Artagnan asked, blinking owlishly at Athos’ words.

“Have you changed your mind about continuing on as Aramis’ Master?” Athos asked him again.

“No,” d’Artagnan ground out, turning away from Athos’ piercing stare.

“Very well,” Athos said. He turned his head to address Aramis and had to harden his heart at the pain he saw there. “Aramis, if you would accompany us downstairs, Porthos and I would like to have a word with you.”

“Al-alright,” Aramis said weakly. He pushed back the blanket and got out of the bed. He did not look at d’Artagnan, but kept his eyes fixed on the floor. He had no idea what Athos wanted to discuss. All that kept running through his mind was his Master’s voice saying he no longer wanted him. 

“Strength, brother,” Porthos whispered to Aramis as they headed down the stairs. He hated seeing his lover like this. It tore at his heart and made him want to grab the Whelp by the scruff of the neck and just shake him until he saw reason.

Athos grinned to himself when he heard d’Artagnan following them down the stairs, cursing them for not allowing Aramis to rest. Athos had to wonder how the boy could be so blind as to not see how his own behavior looked. But d’Artagnan was nothing if not stubborn and if they had to hit him over the head with the metaphorical plank then they would do so. Repeatedly, if necessary.

Athos and Porthos led the way into the sitting room, purposely blocking the others’ view at first. When Athos moved aside, however, the sofa came into view and both men stopped when they saw Constance’s hairbrush lying innocuously on the seat.

“Aramis,” Athos began, causing the man to jerk around to face him. “I can only imagine the guilt you must carry for the events of the past days. And while Porthos and I have told you that we forgive you, that you are not to blame, I understand that is not always enough to rid oneself of guilt. Is this true?”

“Yes,” Aramis rasped, the word barely audible even in the still room.

“Very well,” Athos said. “Since d’Artagnan has relinquished his place as your Master and Porthos and I have no wish to see you go outside of our circle for such things, we have decided to take it upon ourselves to discipline you.”

“What?” Aramis gasped, suddenly wide-eyed. He looked back and forth between Athos and Porthos. He saw the utter seriousness of their expressions and knew they meant it. When his eyes fell on Constance’s hairbrush again, he began to shake his head.

“Come now, Aramis,” Athos said, nodding to Porthos. “I would think you would want to make amends for what you put us all through.”

“I do not want you to do this,” Aramis said. He glanced back at d’Artagnan and saw the younger man standing stiffly, his hands balled tightly into fists. His face looked thunderous but he made no move to interfere as Porthos reached out and took Aramis by the arm.

“You will, of course, explain to Constance exactly what happened to her hairbrush, apologize and buy her a new one,” Athos instructed, wincing inside when Aramis blushed bright red in mortification.

“I do not… I do not want you to do this,” Aramis said, starting to panic. “You… you said you did not want to… to do this… Please…”

“Porthos will go first,” Athos said, ignoring Aramis’ pleas. “Twenty should do. Then we will switch. You may leave his smalls on. I doubt they will provide much protection.”

As Porthos began to maneuver a panicking Aramis over his lap, d’Artagnan moved. He made it two strides then Athos’ arms were wrapped around him, tight as steel bands and he was being hauled back toward the chair. Athos sat down with him, pulling d’Artagnan into his lap, making sure he could see exactly what Porthos was doing a few short feet away.

Porthos twisted Aramis’ hands behind his back to hold him down with one hand and picked up the brush with the other. Lifting it high, he paused and glanced at Athos. At his brother’s nod, he brought the brush down hard on Aramis’ backside. The resultant crack, even cushioned by Aramis’ smalls surprised him and he paused for a moment to collect himself. 

d’Artagnan froze in Athos’ arms when the first blow landed. He could not believe that they were doing this. He could not believe that _Porthos_ was doing this. After everything Aramis had been through, how dare they do this to him? Had he not suffered enough?

“Count,” Athos ordered harshly. “Or he will begin again.”

Athos voice in his ear was enough to break d’Artagnan’s paralysis. He began to struggle, doing his best to break free and get to Aramis. He would not sit here and watch his lover being hurt like this. Snarling, he twisted and fought, trying to break free, but Athos’ grip was too strong, holding him firmly in place and forcing him to watch Aramis’ pain.

“O-o-one,” Aramis stammered. He felt tears prick his eyes as he looked across the room searching for his Master. It was not the pain that affected him. It was the overwhelming shame of it. Not only had he failed his Master so badly that he no longer wanted him but he had failed his brothers so spectacularly that they had sunk to this. 

The next blow fell as hard as the first and Aramis jolted with the shock of it. The shame of being used like this again… being hurt like this again… and in front of his… in front of d’Artagnan… was so great it nearly overwhelmed him. He opened his mouth to count as he had been ordered, not wanting to give them a reason to start again but he could not get the word out. 

“Please,” Aramis gasped, the word escaping him without his consent. His eyes met d’Artagnan’s across the short expanse and he could not hold back a whimper even as shamed him even more. 

“Let him go, God damn you!” d’Artagnan swore as he fought to get free, kicking at Athos’ shins and throwing his head back in an attempt to connect with the man’s face. He could see the panic on Aramis’ face and he snarled. 

“Count,” Athos said, ignoring d’Artagnan. “Or we shall have to begin again.”

Aramis’ eyes met d’Artagnan’s once more. Everything he felt, all of the fear and guilt and shame, was there for him to see. “Master… help me,” Aramis begged. “Please…”

D’Artagnan stilled in Athos’ arms, panting hard. He shifted his eyes to Porthos and tensed as if to spring. “Touch him again and I swear to God I will kill you both,” d’Artagnan vowed. “Now let me fucking go, you bastards.”

Athos gave a nod to Porthos and released d’Artagnan. Porthos released Aramis as well, though he was careful to keep a steadying hand on him so he did not fall off his lap. He need not have worried. d’Artagnan was across the room in an instant, grabbing Aramis and pulling him off of Porthos and into his arms.

“It’s alright,” he said as he rocked the other man. “Shhh. Hush now, Little One. It’s alright. I am here. It’s alright. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I will not let them hurt you again. Forgive me. Please forgive me.”

“Master?” Aramis questioned, unwilling to hope only to have those hopes dashed again. Just because d’Artagnan called him Little One did not necessarily mean anything.

“Yes, Little One. I’m sorry. I should not have left you. I did not mean to. I… I thought… I _hurt_ you. I… I took liberties I had no right to.”

“You had every right,” Aramis told him. “I gave you that right when I gave you that title. You did not hurt me for your enjoyment. You did not hurt me for selfish gain. You were trying to save my soul, Master.”

“I love you so fucking much,” d’Artagnan told him. “It was killing me to know I had done the same thing to you that… that _they_ had.”

“Oh God, no,” Aramis said, shaking his head. “No. Never. You would never. It was nothing like that. You… you…”

“Shhh. Enough,” d’Artagnan told him. “You are exhausted. You need rest. Some heartless bastards woke you from a sound sleep to beat you.”

“Master…”

“Peace, Little One. I shall deal with them,” d’Artagnan told him. “But you and I are going back to bed. We both need to rest. I will deal with our _brothers_ later.”


	25. Chapter 25

Part 25

Elizabeth stormed through the rooms of the small manor house she had rented for their time in Paris. She snarled as she threw furniture out of her way, her hands hooked into claws and her eyes all but glowing in fury. He had broken her hold! He had managed to fight his way free of her! Oh, not completely. He would never be _completely_ free of her until one of them was dead. But he had pushed her back down, down to where he could not hear her whisper to him, down to where he could not feel her hands caress his soul. For that temerity, that gall, he would pay most dearly.

“Ficzko!” she shouted as she entered the main hall, unsurprised to find her dwarven companion already awaiting her there.

“Yes, Madame?” he replied placidly, as if seeing his mistress in a red rage was a normal occurrence for him.

“Find out who helped him,” she seethed. “Find out everyone who aided him in loosening my hold. Then find everyone he loves, everyone he cares for. Our little priest will learn how very high the price of defiance can be.”

“Careful, Madame,” Ficzko cautioned her. “Too much and you may break his mind along with his will.”

“Do not worry,” she said. “I shall allow him to keep one of them. I shall even allow him to choose which of his dear brothers gets to live and which ones he gets to watch die screaming.”

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

d’Artagnan awoke for the second time that day to the feel of a warm body pressing him into the bed. He opened his eyes to see Aramis sprawled atop him, his messy head pillowed on his chest. His heart clenched painfully at the sight of him, sleeping so trustingly against him. He knew they still needed to talk about what happened. Regardless of the necessity of it, he had still acted without his lover’s consent. It would take some time for the guilt of that to east. However, Aramis would not be made to suffer during that time. d’Artagnan had made a commitment to him and he would not walk away from it again. Not until the day Aramis finally told him to.

“Has anyone ever told you that you think quite loudly?” Aramis asked from where he lay on d’Artagnan’s chest.

“I believe it may have been mentioned it a time or two,” d’Artagnan grinned. “Feeling better?”

“I am with you,” Aramis replied as if that answered everything. A moment later, however, he stiffened as several rather unwanted thoughts occurred to him.

“What is it?” d’Artagnan asked, feeling the change in him.

“I just…” Aramis began then swallowed and tried again. “I do not mean to presume.”

“Don’t,” d’Artagnan said softly, tightening his arms around him. “Please, don’t. I am so very, very sorry. I did not mean to hurt you. I truly thought I was doing what was best for you.”

“Leaving me could never be what is best for me,” Aramis said, unable to keep the quaver from his voice.

“I was not leaving you, Little One,” d’Artagnan tried to argue.

“Yes, you were,” Aramis said. “It would not have been immediate but we both know it would have happened.”

“Aramis…”

“Not trusting yourself as my Master would have led to not trusting yourself with me at all. And you know it.”

“Oh God,” d’Artagnan gasped as he realized the truth of his lover’s words. He clutched Aramis to him then, his own body starting to shake as he finally understood how close he had come to destroying everything that was between them.

“Peace, d’Artagnan,” Aramis soothed, holding and stroking his lover as much as he could in the position he was in. “I did not mean to upset you so.”

“I’m so sorry. My precious Little One, forgive me. Please,” d’Artagnan begged, tears filling his eyes.

Aramis pushed himself up on one arm so he could look at the other man. His Master looked so utterly heartbroken that it hurt Aramis to look at him. Not knowing what else to do, only that he had to do something to wipe that look off his face, he surged forward and covered d’Artagnan’s mouth in a kiss.

d’Artagnan was taken by surprise by the suddenness of Aramis’ kiss. The feel of the man’s mouth against his, though, was more than welcome and he opened his mouth to him, giving him free reign. He felt as much as heard Aramis moan into his mouth and his hand quickly found its way into Aramis’ hair, earning him yet another moan. Holding him tight, d’Artagnan flipped them over in the big bed so that he was lying on top without ever breaking their kiss.

Aramis could not stop himself from moaning and arching up beneath d’Artagnan. The feel of his Master like this was everything he dreamed of. For this was a step they had not yet taken. His Master had yet to fully claim him, fully make him his own, and Aramis yearned for that completion.

“Tell me what you want,” d’Artagnan demanded as he ground down against him.

“You,” Aramis gasped.

“You have me,” he replied without hesitation. “I am yours and you are mine. Nothing and no one will ever change that.”

“S-s-sir…” Aramis stammered, overwhelmed by the onslaught of emotions d’Artagnan’s words had evoked. He wanted so badly to call d’Artagnan ‘Master’ again but he was afraid to. If he did so and was rebuffed for it again, it would likely break his heart for good.

“That is **not** what you call me,” d’Artagnan told him firmly. “Address me as you should, Little One. You will not suffer for it again.”

“Master,” Aramis whispered, afraid to even breathe in that moment.

d’Artagnan did not reply with words. Instead, he leaned down and kissed Aramis again, grinding against him as he did so. “Good pet,” he said when he finally pulled back from his somewhat dazed lover. “Now tell me what it is you want from your Master.”

“I… I want to be yours,” Aramis told him though he blushed faintly as he did so.

“You already are,” d’Artagnan replied.

“Not… not completely,” Aramis said softly. He turned his face away then not wanting to see pity in his Master’s eyes.

d’Artagnan reached down and turned Aramis’ face back toward him. “I was not sure, after everything, that it was something you would still desire with me,” he told him gently. “If it is, if you would still wish to give yourself to me in such a manner after all that I have done, then I would consider it an honor, Little One.”

Aramis stared up at him in wonder. He wet his lips nervously as he struggled to find the right words. “Nothing would make me happier than to complete our union in this way,” he began. “And nothing you have done has lessened my feelings for you in any way. I love you, Master. I am… devoted to you. I do not know of a command you could give me that I would not follow.”

“I do,” d’Artagnan chuckled, unable to stop himself from thinking of their brothers downstairs. Aramis might be devoted to him but d’Artagnan had no illusions about where he stood.

“I am not so sure of that,” Aramis said carefully. “My trust in you is absolute. I know you would not bid me do something… painful without good cause. Unless your order would somehow cause direct harm to you, I _would_ obey it.”

“Aramis… Little One… you should not give me such power,” d’Artagnan said shaking his head.

“I already have,” came Aramis’ soft reply.

d’Artagnan looked down at him for long moments then nodded slightly. “Then it is long past time I made you mine completely. You will belong to me in every way that one can. Just as I will soon belong to you.”

“Athos… Athos first,” Aramis gasped.

“Do **not** say his name to me,” d’Artagnan snarled angrily. “Not if you do not wish me to go downstairs and thrash them both this instant.”

“Yes, Master,” Aramis replied, taken aback slightly by d’Artagnan’s furious response. He knew the younger man was still angry. He could see it on his face, but he had not realized he was quite that angry. He would need to talk with him and try to explain their brothers’ actions before his anger drove him to do something rash. But that was a thought for another time. 

d’Artagnan leaned down and kissed him deeply, letting Aramis bear his full weight. He thrust his tongue deeply into the other man’s mouth, tasting him and enjoying the moans and whimpers he could pull from his lover with nothing more than this. He continued to kiss and grind against him until he could feel Aramis’ hardness pressing into his hip. Only then did he pull back to look down at the man once more.

“How do you wish to do this?” d’Artagnan asked him. “I know you have thought of this. Tell me your fantasy and let me give it to you.”

“Master,” Aramis moaned, going weak at the other man’s words. How was it this boy who barely knew what he was doing managed to turn him inside out so easily?

“Tell me,” d’Artagnan urged. “Tell me and I shall give it to you. I want to give you everything, Little One. I want to fulfill every fevered dream you keep hidden inside of you.”

“Master… Master, please,” Aramis cried out, gripping d’Artagnan’s shoulders hard. “If you keep talking like this I will spend before you even get me out of my smalls.”

“And that would be a bad thing?” d’Artagnan smirked down at him. “Is that not a fantasy of yours? I must admit, I have often fantasized about making you spend before you could even get your leathers open.”

“Oh God,” Aramis swore. He had to fight to calm his body, calling on everything he could think of to tamp down his arousal. Finally, he no longer felt in danger of losing control. 

“Tell me,” d’Artagnan urged one last time. 

“Like this,” Aramis told him. “I… I wish to see you, to know that it is you taking me, joining with me, making me yours. I want to watch your face while you spend inside of me. I want to fill as many of my sense with you as I can.”

“Then this is what you shall have,” d’Artagnan told him. “I love you, Little One. Little Slut. Beautiful Boy. _Aramis_. You are my **world**. I do not think I could have lived without you. I know I would not have wanted to.”

“You… you have not… not called me Beautiful Boy before,” Aramis observed.

“Do you not like it?” d’Artagnan asked.

“I… I did not say that,” Aramis replied. “I… I…”

“I shall give you time to consider it,” d’Artagnan said. “And then we can discuss it. But for now, we have other things to concern ourselves with.” He only had to move partially off of Aramis to reach the bedside table where they kept a small pot of oil. He brought it back over to the bed and set it within easy reach beside them.

d’Artagnan pulled off his own smalls first, throwing them down on the floor, then began untying Aramis’. He opened them and began to ease them down Aramis’ hips but a sharp hiss from the man stopped him. He looked up sharply, unsure what he had done to hurt his lover. Then he understood and his entire face darkened in anger.

“Do not, please,” Aramis said as he reached toward d’Artagnan. “It will heal in but a day or so. They were only trying to help us.”

“They hurt you,” d’Artagnan growled. He finished pulling Aramis’ smalls off, mindful of his tender backside. He dropped them over the side of the bed with his own then turned back to his lover. “Turn over. I need to see how badly you’re hurt.”

“I am not,” Aramis tried to tell him, not wanting to make his Master any angrier than he already was at their brothers.

“Little One, in this, you will obey me,” d’Artagnan said. “I will know how badly you are hurt. And I will know it before we proceed any further. If you are too sore, then we will wait.”

“But…”

“I will not have our first time together bring you pain,” d’Artagnan told him. “That is not the memory I would have you carry of this.”

“Of course, Master,” Aramis subsided. “I truly am fine, though. I am a bit sore. I will probably have a bruise or two where the brush landed but there is no real damage.” 

“You are embarrassed,” d’Artagnan said when he noticed Aramis’ reddening face. He had been fine until he had mentioned the brush.

“I… that they used Constance’s brush… it is humiliating,” Aramis admitted. “I am unsure how I shall face her after this.”

“I am so sorry,” d’Artagnan told him. 

“Don’t,” Aramis said. “It does not matter now. We are together. I would endure a hundred such beatings if it brought you back to me.”

“Please don’t say that,” d’Artagnan said. 

“It is only the truth,” Aramis told him. “There is nothing I would not endure if it brought you back to me.”

d’Artagnan swallowed around the lump in his throat and nodded. “Roll over for me, Little One,” he instructed. “Let me see how badly you are hurt so I can judge if we can go on. And know that if we cannot now, then we shall just as soon as you are healed enough.”

“Yes, Master,” Aramis replied, reassured by d’Artagnan’s promise. He rolled over onto his stomach and pillowed his head on his arms. He really did not think he was too badly injured, but it was hard to tell. The bed was rather soft and he had a fairly high tolerance for such things.

“They have bruised you rather a lot,” d’Artagnan said. “How sore are you? Be truthful, Little One.”

“Only a little, Master,” Aramis told him. “My pain tolerance for such things is higher than most. I know it might look bad and were I sitting on something hard I would surely be feeling it but the bed is quite soft.”

“And your Master tends to be overly cautious,” d’Artagnan added, smiling slightly. “If you wish to try, we shall. But promise me you will tell me if the pain starts to increase.”

“I will, Master,” Aramis promised at once. “I know it would upset you a great deal if you were to cause me pain in this.”

“I love you, Little One,” d’Artagnan told him. “Now roll back over so I can start preparing you.”

“You do not, perhaps, wish to watch me prepare myself for your use?” Aramis asked, letting just a bit of the slut in him come through.

d’Artagnan grinned at him. “Not this time,” he replied. “This time is for you. I want to feel your body opening for me, getting ready to welcome me into you.”

Aramis groaned. “You are determined to make me spend before you even get a finger inside me.”

“Perhaps.” 

He helped Aramis get settled on his back, making sure he was comfortable. He had Aramis spread his legs, bending one so that he had room without putting undue strain on him. He took the small pot of oil and coated one of his fingers then set it aside. Sliding his hand down to his lover’s bollocks, he caressed them, then let his hand move lower, his finger sliding along Aramis’ cleft until he found his hole. 

He circled his hole for a moment, spreading the oil around then slowly pushed in. The moan he pulled from Aramis made his own cock throb but d’Artagnan ignored it as he sank his finger in as far as it would go. He held it there for a moment, allowing Aramis to adjust then began to slowly fuck him with it, enjoying the feel of him.

One finger quickly became two as Aramis relaxed into the stretching. Both men were rather surprised at how quickly Aramis’ body accommodated his Master. Aramis had a pretty good idea as to why but he was not going to stop the proceedings long enough to discuss it. He and his Master could talk about it afterwards if he wanted to. 

“Do you want me to use a third finger or do you want to feel me breech you?” d’Artagnan asked him. While he was loathe to hurt Aramis, to cause him any pain at all really, he understood that his lover enjoyed it to some extent. He also thought that Aramis might get a great deal of emotional satisfaction out of it this time in particular. 

“I want to feel you,” Aramis said at once. “I know you do not wish to hurt me…”

“Hush, Little One,” d’Artagnan told him. “I understand. You wish to… to feel our union. I will go slowly and you must tell me if the pain is more than to be expected.”

“It should not hurt much,” Aramis told him. “I will tell you if it does.”

The decision made, d’Artagnan pulled his fingers free and slicked his cock. He lifted Aramis’ leg with one hand and held his cock in place with the other. “I love you, Little One. More than you can fathom.”

Slowly, d’Artagnan began to push inside. He kept the pressure steady as he slowly breeched Aramis’ body. He stared down into his lover’s dark eyes, watching as they widened as Aramis’ body yielded to him. When the head of his cock finally breeched him, he paused, giving Aramis a chance to adjust. His lover was nearly panting with the strain and d’Artagnan rubbed his leg trying to soothe him.

“Okay?” d’Artagnan asked after a few moments. He waited for Aramis to nod before slowly pushing forward again. He did not stop this time until he was fully seated. He could feel Aramis shaking around him, but was not sure of the cause of it.

“Talk to me, Little One,” he beseeched, unable not to respond to his distress.

“I… I am so full,” Aramis gasped. “I… Oh, Master… I…”

“Are you alright?” d’Artagnan asked, growing concerned. He started to pull back, but Aramis grabbed him by the shoulders and yanked him back down.

“Do not… please, do not,” he begged. “I have wanted… for so long, I have wanted…”

“Shhh,” d’Artagnan whispered. “I am here. I will not leave. I have you. I love you, Little One. Aramis. Beloved.”

Aramis held him until his body began to relax, adjusting to the intrusion. Only then did he let go of his Master so that he could rise up again. “Make love to me, Master,” he smiled, his heart beating wildly when d’Artagnan smiled back at him and began to do just that.

It did not last for long. It could not, with both men wound so tight. Aramis’ body still felt like a vise around his cock and d’Artagnan had to fight not to simply slam into him. From the way his lover was throwing his head back and forth and arching up to meet his thrusts, he knew he was close as well. 

Knowing he was not going to be able to last much longer, d’Artagnan wrapped his free hand around Aramis’ cock and started to stroke. Aramis shouted at the first pull and was spending between them on the third. The sight of his lover coming undone beneath him, coupled with the feel of Aramis’ body clenching on his cock was enough to push d’Artagnan over the edge as well and he thrust forward hard as he began to spend as well, filling his lover’s body with his seed.

Spent and exhausted once more, d’Artagnan carefully slid himself free. He kissed Aramis softly when he winced and reached over the side of the bed for his smalls so he could clean them both up. Once they were at least wiped off, he threw the soiled linen aside and lay down beside his lover, pulling him into his arms and holding him close.

“Thank you,” Aramis whispered as d’Artagnan held him.

“I should be saying that to you,” d’Artagnan replied. “You are a blessing to me, Little One, and I cherish every moment with you. Do not ever think otherwise.”

“The feeling is quite mutual, Master,” Aramis told him. “I know you think that there will come a time when I no longer wish this with you, when I will no longer wish to be your Little One. I do not know how to convince you of the folly of such thoughts. I have never been more complete, more at peace, than I have since you came into my life. That God has seen fit to bless me with your presence is a miracle to me. I have learned not to question God’s miracles, beloved.”


	26. Chapter 26

Part 26

Aramis lay contentedly in d’Artagnan’s arms. He knew they needed to go downstairs and talk to the others, preferably before anyone started panicking too much. He was not at all sure that d’Artagnan was able to though. Not without it resulting in bloodshed for at least one of his brothers. He understood why they had done it. Now that his own panic had subsided and he could think clearly again, he could see what Athos had been trying to achieve. And he had succeeded, too. But Aramis had to wonder at the cost. 

There was no question as to him forgiving his brothers. He already had, the moment he realized why they had treated him so. He was actually going to have a much harder time getting Porthos to forgive himself for what he had done. What he truly worried for, though, was his youngest lover. He may have been distraught at the time, but he remembered the look in d’Artagnan’s eyes when he had threatened them. They were not idle words. He had meant every one of them.

“Now which one of us is thinking too loudly,” d’Artagnan teased.

Aramis snorted a laugh and leaned up to kiss him. “So, have you calmed enough to face them or do I need to give them a running start?” he asked, only half joking.

“I will not harm our brothers, Aramis,” d’Artagnan replied evenly.

“And our lovers?”

d’Artagnan sighed. He could not blame Aramis for being cautious. He had threatened to kill them, after all. And he was not exactly known for his calm, even temper. “Nor those either,” he said. “Though I am sorely tempted to give Athos a taste of what he put you through.”

“Only Athos, Master?” Aramis asked, a bit surprised. It was Porthos, after all, who had been the one to actually lay hands on him.

“First of all, I know how dear Porthos is to you. I would do nothing to make this even harder on him than I am sure it already is. Second, I know full well that this was Athos’ doing. He orchestrated it. He shall bear the blame.”

“Please, Master, do not be too angry with him,” Aramis pled. “They were only trying to help us… help me.”

“By forcing Porthos to beat you?” d’Artagnan asked incredulously. “By making you endure… By humiliating you?”

“Master…”

“They made you helpless,” d’Artagnan said softly. “Right in front of me while I could do nothing to stop them. They made you helpless and I know what that does to you. _He_ knows what that… He knew and he did it anyway. I am sorry, Little One. I am afraid it might take some time for me to be able to forgive him for this.”

“But you will? Forgive him, that is?” Aramis asked, a desperate edge to his voice.

“Yes,” d’Artagnan promised him. “You wish it, so I will do so. No matter how much it galls me to do it. You mean more to me than my pride ever will, Beautiful Boy.”

They remained in bed a bit longer, both of them gathering themselves for the coming confrontation. d’Artagnan knew he was going to have to keep a tight rein on his temper lest he lose what little control he had. It was not even the fact that they had hurt Aramis. The injures were trifling when compared to the life of a soldier. What angered him was not that they had hurt him, but that they had frightened and humiliated him. For those few minutes, they had made him feel insignificant and powerless and that was what angered him. That was what enraged him to the point where he considered just taking Aramis and… But no, that was something he would not do. He would never force his Boy to choose. So he would swallow his pride and accept whatever feeble excuse Athos managed to come up with.

When they finally did make it downstairs, they found the other two waiting nervously in the sitting room. Porthos sprang to his feet at once, taking a step toward them and d’Artagnan found himself pulling Aramis behind him before he could stop himself. The action froze Porthos in his tracks and pulled what sounded like a strangled “please” from Athos.

“It is alright,” Aramis said softly to d’Artagnan as he moved out from behind the shelter he offered. He held out his hand to Porthos and closed the distance between them, relieved when the other man took it rather than shying away from him. 

“I’m so sorry,” Porthos said as soon as Aramis was close.

“Everything will be alright,” Aramis told him. “I understand what you were trying to do. What you did, in fact, do. I do not blame you, love.”

Porthos pulled Aramis into his arms and buried his face in the man’s neck. He was shaking as he held him, the emotions he had been holding pent up inside of him since the start of all of this finally finding an outlet. “I was so scared,” he whispered. “Thought for sure you’d hate me.”

“Nothing in this world could make me hate you, Porthos,” Aramis told him. “Nothing. But please, for all of our sakes, do not… do not attempt something of this nature again.”

“I won’t,” Porthos told him. 

Aramis hesitated. He did not want to hurt Porthos but he needed him to understand. Swallowing, he forced the words out, loud enough so that everyone could hear. “Good. Because my Master, he will not abide another touching me in such a manner again.”

Porthos stiffened in Aramis’ arms as his words sank in. He could feel a matching tenseness in Aramis. “I understand,” he whispered hoarsely, letting Aramis know that he not only understood what he was saying but accepted it as well.

“Thank you,” Aramis said. He leaned back and kissed him softly then stepped back. He kept hold of Porthos’ hand, though, unwilling to relinquish his hold on his lover entirely. “Come. Let us all sit down. I do believe it is past time we talked this all out.”

“As you wish,” d’Artagnan said and sat down in the chair next to the sofa. He smiled slightly at Aramis’ frown, acknowledging that his brother had wanted him closer but he was not ready for that quite yet.

Once everyone was settled, d’Artagnan took a breath as if to start but Athos held up a hand, forestalling him. “d'Artagnan, please, before you start, I need to apologize. This went farther than I could have ever imagined. Have I done irreparable harm to Aramis? Have I ruined… us?”

d’Artagnan stared at him, feeling his anger start to rise. He let his eyes shift to Aramis and the desperate urging he saw there made him stop and take a breath, forcing his anger to dissipate. “You have not harmed Aramis,” d’Artagnan told him. “The bruising is light and will heal in a day or so. However the… distress you put him in has yet to make itself known.”

“Master?” Aramis frowned, unsure what d’Artagnan was referring to.

“I am not naïve, Little One,” he told him. “You were genuinely… Well, I am hoping the incident has not stirred up any memories best left buried. If it has, we shall deal with them, of course. But I would spare you that, if I could.”

Athos paled at the implication of d’Artagnan’s words. He had not even considered what putting Aramis through such a scenario might remind him of. He felt sick at the thought of it. No wonder d’Artagnan wanted to throttle him. 

“As for the matter of us,” d’Artagnan continued after a moment, pulling Athos’ attention back to him. “I would not say… ruined, brother. I am angry with you. I cannot help that. Aramis wishes me to forgive you so I shall, but it is not something I can do in an instant. I am sorry that I cannot offer you more than that.”

Athos nodded, unable for a moment to find the words. He was grateful that the lad had not simply written him off for what he had done. He had not meant to do _harm_ to Aramis. Not physically. Not mentally. That had never been his intent. 

“I do not seem to be able to keep from making missteps with you,” Athos finally managed. For while he was more thankful than he could say for the second chance d’Artagnan was giving him, that Aramis had most likely convinced the lad to give him, it still hurt to know that once again he would have to work to rebuild the trust between them.

“We shall get through it,” d’Artagnan told him. “Our brothers will not let us stumble too badly.”

“I do not deserve you,” Athos whispered.

“No, you do not deserve _him_ ,” d’Artagnan countered. “But that is not for me to say.”

“Master,” Aramis gasped. “He did not mean…”

“I know that,” d’Artagnan snapped. He had to stop for a moment to keep his temper in check. “I know. But I am unsure if he even realizes what he did to you.”

“Believe me, d’Artagnan, I am aware of how egregiously I have erred,” Athos told him. “That you would give me a second chance at all after what I have done…”

“You are my brother,” d’Artagnan replied quite seriously.

Athos stared at his young lover. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. Though, in reality, only a few feet separated them, it suddenly felt like a chasm to Athos. Slowly, he reached a shaking hand toward d’Artagnan, well aware that the boy would most likely turn away from it. 

He was not really surprised when, rather than taking his hand, d’Artagnan stood. He knew it had been too much to hope that he might reach back. Their youngest always, always withdrew when he was hurt. Athos hung his head, ashamed, and started to drop his hand when it was suddenly gripped and held fast. His head jerked up and he was shocked to see d’Artagnan crouched down in front of him, holding onto his hand. 

“I am angry with you,” he said to Athos. “But I still love you. You are still my brother. Nothing changes that.” Using his grip on Athos’ hand, d’Artagnan pulled him forward until he could wrap his arms around him and simply hold him. He spared a moment to glance over at Aramis and Porthos and saw them holding each other as well, watching them intently. He did not miss the relieved look on Aramis’ face and knew he had made the right decision. His anger and his pride were not worth causing his Boy pain. They were not worth causing _Athos_ pain. He would try his best to remember that.

They stayed together on the sofa with d’Artagnan eventually moving up between Aramis and Athos. Athos had not wanted to release him and d’Artagnan had not had in within him to force him to. He reminded himself again that his brother had been through just as much as he had. He would not take what comfort he got from his presence away from him.

“Porthos, do you and I need to talk?” d’Artagnan asked him once they had all calmed down some.

“Depends,” Porthos replied. “You still want to slit my throat for touching him like that?”

“No, I was well aware of whose plan it was.” d’Artagnan chuckled, shaking his head. When he looked at Aramis, however, the smile slid off his face. “Aramis? What’s wrong?”

“Oh God,” Aramis gasped, trembling violently as the memories of the horrid fantasies he had entertained flooded his mind once more.

“Brother?” Porthos said, feeling Aramis shaking in his arms. 

“I… I… Oh God… Please,” Aramis gasped, barely able to get the words out.

“Little One, look at me,” d’Artagnan told him firmly. He waited until Aramis met his eyes before speaking again. “Breathe with me. Nice and slow. In and out. Come on. Do as you’re told, Little One.”

“Y-y-yes, M-m-mas-as-ter,” Aramis stammered, but he began to do as d’Artagnan said, matching his breathing to the other man’s. Slowly, he began to calm until he was breathing normally and only trembling slightly in Porthos’ arms.

“Can you tell us what happened now?” d’Artagnan asked him, mindful of setting off another panic attack.

“It… it was what… what Porthos said,” Aramis tried to explain. “It reminded me… of… of when…”

“Of when you were not you?” d’Artagnan filled in for him.

“Yes,” Aramis replied, shame making his stomach roil.

“Look at me,” d’Artagnan said, his tone of voice making it clear that it was an order.

“Master…”

“What did I call you upstairs?” he asked him, seemingly from nowhere. “What did I call you that you were unsure of?”

“Beautiful Boy,” Aramis replied, blushing slightly.

“That is right. You are my Beautiful Boy. And my Beautiful Boy has nothing to be ashamed of. Not ever. Least of all something he had no control over.”

“You do not understand,” Aramis contended.

“Then tell me,” d’Artagnan told him. “Tell us all so that we can prove ourselves to you.”

Aramis looked at his Master then at Athos and finally over his shoulder to Porthos behind him. His eyes glittered with barely suppressed tears but he refused to let them fall. His lovers would comfort him if he did and he did not deserve their comfort. Not for this. 

Steeling himself, he fixed his eyes firmly on the floor and began to talk. “I was so angry. Nearly constantly so. It was like a black rage rolling inside of me, ready to lash out at the slightest provocation. 

“When you would try to… to control me, I would chafe. And I would… fantasize. About what I would do… what I wanted to do… what the darkness inside of me wanted me to do.”

“And what was that?” d’Artagnan asked calmly. 

“The first time, I imagined what sounds Athos would make as I… I slit his throat,” Aramis said, paling as he forced the words out. “I wondered if he would cry out as the blood ran down my blade or if he would remain as stoic as ever.”

“And the next time?” d’Artagnan prompted. He knew Aramis needed to talk about this. He needed to get this out so that he could see that it did not matter, that they did not hold it against him. Maybe then he could start to forgive himself.

“It was… it was you that time,” Aramis told him. “I wondered if you would be as stoic as Athos or if you would rage and fight… if you would beg. God help me… I thought of you… side by side… wondering… wondering how you would differ. I knew… I knew Athos would never… never beg for his own life. But I…”

“You what?” d’Artagnan pressed gently.

“I thought of him… of making him… lick my boots… to spare your life.” Aramis broke down then and began to sob. His entire body was shaking as he remembered scene after vile scene of his brothers dying at his hand. The worst part about it all, was the thrill he had felt inside when he had imagined it. He could still recall the sick ecstasy, the black joy he had felt as he imagined Athos utterly debasing himself in the hope he might somehow spare d’Artagnan.

Aramis curled into d’Artagnan, instinctively seeking his Master’s protection and closeness. He could feel Porthos leaning forward, still pressing against his back, as if unwilling to break their connection. He felt shamed to his very soul and pressed his face against his Master’s neck, unable to endure the scrutiny of his lovers. 

“It’s alright, love,” Porthos whispered. He could feel Aramis trying to move away from him, to put some distance between them but he refused to allow it. He half expected the Whelp to spirit him back off upstairs as upset as he was and he was grateful that the boy had not yet. 

Athos had to maneuver a bit to be able to see Aramis with the way he was attempting to burrow into d’Artagnan. When he was finally situated, he reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder. He felt it go even more rigid at his touch and he sighed. “Aramis, please,” he whispered plaintively. “Do not do this to yourself. It was not you, brother. We know this.”

“You do not understand,” Aramis all but wailed, though his face was still tucked away from them.

“Then explain it to us,” d’Artagnan told him. “Explain what it is you think we do not understand so that you can see that you have nothing to fear.”

Aramis barked out a laugh at his Master’s words and turned his face so that his cheek rested against d’Artagnan’s shoulder. He closed his eyes, refusing to look at the others. “This is not fear,” he managed to get out.

“No?” d’Artagnan asked, beginning to grow concerned. He had thought Aramis was afraid of their reactions. If this was something else, then he was not sure what to do.

“No,” Aramis replied. “Though I suppose the fear will come at some point. Once I have learned to live with the shame of this.”

“Stop that,” Porthos told him gruffly, his own anger rising. “You have no reason to feel shame.”

“Do I not?” Aramis countered softly, his voice defeated.

“No,” Porthos practically growled.

“Even though I enjoyed it?” Aramis asked him. “Even though the thought of Athos… Athos debasing himself for d’Artagnan’s _life_ thrilled me?”

“Do you know what all I thought while that demon had hold of me?” Porthos contended. “Sick things. Ways she would hurt you… or make you watch while she hurt Athos.”

“And yet you did not thrill to them,” Aramis told him.

“Are you certain of that?” Porthos asked him softly.

“Yes,” Aramis replied. “You would never have kept that inside of you. You would not have been able to. Not without it driving you mad.”

“I have a question for you, Little One?” d’Artagnan interrupted.

“Yes, Master?” Aramis answered at once.

“You say the fantasies you had while under the influence of the… Darkness, for lack of a better term, thrilled you,” he said.

“Yes,” Aramis replied, barely able to hold back a sob as he did so.

“Do they still?” d’Artagnan asked him.

“What?” Aramis gasped.

“Do you still find pleasure in such thoughts?” d’Artagnan repeated. “Do you still find pleasure in the thought of killing us? Does the thought of making Athos crawl and beg for my life still thrill you?”

“No!” Aramis shouted as he pushed away from d’Artagnan. He stared at his Master in horror. How could he ask him such a thing? How could he think for one moment that such vile, sickening thoughts would ever bring him pleasure?

“Then why do you torture yourself so?” d’Artagnan asked him. “You were not in control, Little One. Not of your words, your actions, or your thoughts. It was taking everything you had to hang on as much as you did. Please, stop blaming yourself for something that was not you.”

“I’m sorry,” Aramis said, bowing his head and closing his eyes. “I…”

“Shhh, hush now,” d’Artagnan told him. “I think we have talked quite enough for now. How about if Porthos takes you upstairs for a bit? Would that be alright with you, Boy?”

“Yes,” Aramis said, nodding. “Will you… will you come up later?”

“Yes,” d’Artagnan promised. “Athos and I both will. And if you have need of us, you have but to call. We shall not leave the house.”

Aramis leaned forward and kissed his Master softly then pressed their foreheads together. “I do like it,” he said. “What you called me. Later on, will you tell me what it means to you?”

“If you wish to know,” his Master replied.

“I do,” Aramis told him. He sat back then and motioned for Porthos to release him then he stood up and offered his hand to the other man. Holding tight to Porthos’ hand, he led the way back upstairs, choosing the second bedroom this time, not really wanting to take Porthos into the bedroom he and d’Artagnan had so recently made love in.

The other two men watched them go silently. Both were glad that Aramis had managed to calm down somewhat even though they knew this was far from over for him. He had barely scratched the surface of his behavior while under the influence of the Darkness, as d’Artagnan had put it. The problem was, they did not know how much time they had. Whatever this was, it was still out there and there was no reason to believe that it did not still want to sink its claws into Aramis. They needed to get themselves sorted and quickly.

“I would have done it, you know,” Athos said once the other two were safely upstairs with the door closed behind them.

“Done what?” d’Artagnan asked, turning to regard the older man.

“Whatever he bade me to if it meant your life would be spared,” Athos told him. “Even if you never forgive me for what I have done, I will always protect you.”

“Athos,” d’Artagnan said, shaking his head.

“Do you truly think I would not?” he asked. “Believe me, brother, I would not hesitate to lick his boots if I thought it might buy you so much as a second more of life.”

“You know I would never ask such a thing of you,” d’Artagnan told him, stunned by his words.

“You would not have to,” Athos said simply. 

“Athos… please…” d’Artagnan began, running his hand through his hair in agitation. “I… you know my anger… it is not for my own self.”

“Of course not,” Athos replied. “You rarely take offence for our mistreatment of **you**. Aramis, however, is quite a different story.”

“You think me too protective of him.”

“I think you exactly as protective as he deserves someone to be,” Athos told him. “He has not had that. He has not been able to allow himself to have that. Until you. What he has with you, it is something he will never have with me or Porthos. He allows himself to be vulnerable with you in a way he simply does not with us.”

“If that is… is something you w-wish,” d’Artagnan began, barely able to get the words out.

“No,” Athos told him firmly. “I would never dream of taking that from you. Of trying to interfere with what you have with him in that way. He is… so many different things to you it seems. I have a difficult time understanding it all.”

“So do I at times,” d’Artagnan grinned. “He is many different things himself. He is almost different people at times. I just… try to give him what he needs. Or what I think he needs at any rate.”

“What about you?” Athos asked. “Who sees to your needs after you have worn yourself thin tending to all of us?”

“That is what I have my brothers for,” he said softly. He knew it was not the answer Athos wanted to hear but it was all he could offer for now. There was a time when he would have turned to Athos for that support but, right now, he simply could not. 

“Then let me be there for you,” Athos said. “As a brother if that is all you can stomach of me.”

“Athos,” d’Artagnan grimaced. 

“I am sorry,” Athos apologized. “Forgive me. You have said you need time and I shall see that you have it. When it comes to you I am afraid I am not as patient as I would like to be.”

“I just need some time to get past my anger,” d’Artagnan told him. “You know how sharp my tongue can be. And right now, all I can remember is how upset he was, how scared and humiliated and…”

“Peace, brother,” Athos said, looking stricken once more. “I understand. After what I put him through, what I put you both through, I fully understand. And… I will find a way to make amends with Aramis. I do not know how, but I will find a way.”


	27. Chapter 27

Part 27

Once they were inside the room, Porthos secured the door behind them, wanting to give Aramis his privacy. He knew their brothers would not think less of him for anything he might reveal but thought Aramis himself might feel freer if he knew it was only the two of them. He ruthlessly quashed the voice inside him that said he would likely feel freest talking to the boy. Now was not the time for petty jealousy. Not when it was his very bond with d’Artagnan that had helped him hold on.

Porthos drew the blankets back and off the bed. He motioned for Aramis to lie down and then quickly followed him. He felt a surge of relief when his lover molded himself along his side, pillowing his head on his shoulder. They simply lay like that for a time, until Porthos felt some of the tension finally leave the other man.

“I want you to lay here and listen to me,” Porthos said quietly. “Can you do that for me?”

“Yes,” Aramis replied. He let his hand come to rest on Porthos’ stomach and felt strengthened when the other clasped it in his own.

“You could not control the filth that… that thing put in your head,” he began. He felt Aramis tensing as if to argue and tightened his grip on his hand. “Listen to me. You could not help it. You could not stop it. Nor could you stop what it forced you to feel. Aramis, love, you could not even _try_. Everything you had, all of your strength, was spent trying to hold on, trying to keep those… those fantasies as **only** that.

“Do you think we do not know this, brother? Do you think we do not know that the mere thought of harming any of us sickens you? Even at your darkest, your angriest, your most enraged, you would never find joy in our suffering.”

Aramis did not say anything. He let his brother’s words wash over him instead, soothing the worst of the rawness of his soul. When he felt the tears come, he let them, unable to hold this horror within him a moment more.

“Do you not think it odd that it never made you think such things of me?” Porthos asked. He was genuinely curious, but also fearful that Aramis might be holding something back.

“It knew better,” Aramis said softly.

“What do you mean?”

“Making me imagine such things of Athos and d’Artagnan was traumatic enough. It was done to wound me and, I believe, prove my powerlessness. Had it attempted to show me such an obscenity of you, I would have rebelled to the point of either breaking free… or going mad.”

“Aramis…”

“You are the other half of my soul, Porthos,” Aramis told him. “That has not changed no matter how much my relationship with d’Artagnan may have.”

“I… I believe you. I do,” Porthos replied. “I just see how you are with him. How you… follow him…”

“How I obey him?” Aramis supplied. At Porthos’ hesitant nod, he continued. “You are not wrong. I told him… I told him there was not a command he could give me that I would not follow.”

Porthos felt as if he had been punched, as if he could not draw breath. He had known Aramis obeyed the boy, but this… this was… 

“And what if he commands you to leave me?” Porthos forced himself to ask.

“I must trust that he will not,” Aramis replied calmly.

“Then it would seem I have little choice but to do so as well,” Porthos managed resignedly, though how he got the words out he was not sure.

“Please, beloved, trust in me if you cannot as yet trust in him.”

“What choice do I have?” Porthos laughed brokenly. “Will you… will you at least help me to understand this better? This… this thing that is between you?”

“Of course,” Aramis said. “I did not realize you wanted to know.”

“If it has the power to take you from me, I would know all I can of it.”

“Porthos,” Aramis said, pushing himself up so he could look the man in the face. “He is our brother. First and foremost, that is the bond that underlies all else. d’Artagnan would never betray it in such a manner. He is much more likely to sacrifice his own happiness, his own needs, than to ever deny one of his brothers. Surely you know this by now.”

“I do,” Porthos said. “But when it comes to you, I do not care to take chances. You are the other half of me as well, Aramis. To lose you… I cannot bear the thought of it. And to know that there is one who can command it with but a word…” 

“Very well,” Aramis said, the conversation, in his mind at least, over. He laid his head back down on Porthos shoulder. He would speak with d’Artagnan at his first opportunity. He knew his Master would not hold this against him. He had been uneasy about Aramis giving him that degree of control anyway. Perhaps this was simply for the best.

“Aramis?”

“I shall see to it, Porthos. Please leave it at that,” Aramis said. He would not argue this with his lover. He would not make Porthos feel as if there was a sword hanging over their relationship waiting to fall and sever it. His Master would understand, of that he had no doubt. Though he did hope he was not too disappointed in his Boy. 

“I do not mean to tell you how to…”

“Please,” Aramis ground out, his voice strained. “I beg of you. I have said I shall see to it. Please, let it go at that.”

They fell silent then. Porthos did not know what to say to undo what he had apparently just done and, in truth, he was not sure he wanted to. Aramis, for his part, simply lay where he was, taking in the feel of his lover and letting his presence calm him as it always did. 

“Was there anything else, in particular, you wished to know about my relationship with d’Artagnan?” Aramis asked after a while. Porthos had said he wanted to try to understand so he would do what he could to help him in that regard.

“I… I wondered,” Porthos began, rather hesitant now. “He… he seems to call you different things sometimes. I just wondered what they meant.”

“Hmm, yes. He does have a few different names for me,” Aramis agreed. “Beautiful Boy is the latest of the lot.”

“That one’s new, huh?”

“Yes. He just used it for the first time earlier today in fact,” Aramis told him. “I am… unsure what exactly he means by it.”

“You don’t know?” Porthos asked, surprised.

“No. I have an idea, but I do not believe I know the whole of it. Does it bother you? I know it might seem a bit… derogatory for him to address me as ‘Boy’, but I assure you, he does not mean it as such.”

“No, no. Of course, he doesn’t,” Porthos said quickly, lest Aramis think he found something wrong with it. “He would never be disrespectful like that to you. Even when he’s… he’s being over you… he’s still respectful about it.”

“Yes. Yes, he is always respectful,” Aramis agreed. “He never makes me feel… those things I would rather not. Even when I am playing the part of his slut, he always makes sure I know he is merely acting, that he means none of what he is saying. The care he takes with me in this is… well, it is not something I have ever experienced before.”

“He is good to you,” Porthos gladly agreed, happy that Aramis had found someone who could meet that need in him that would not abuse him in the process. 

“He is. But that is enough talk about d’Artagnan, I think. He did not send us up here to discuss him.”

“Sent us up here for something else, did he?” Porthos asked, playing along. He knew Aramis was still upset but he did not call him on it. He would try to speak to him about it again later, when he had had some time to let things settle.

“Oh yes,” Aramis said, pushing up onto one arm again so he could look down at Porthos. “I do believe he meant for us to mess up this bed as well.”

“As well?” Porthos asked, causing Aramis to blush and duck his head. “Ah. I wondered why we didn’t take the main room. Left it a bit messy did you?”

“Perhaps a touch,” Aramis admitted, blushing all the more. 

“Hey, what is it?” Porthos asked, noticing how much Aramis was blushing now.

“I… I must seem quite the whore to you… bouncing from one bed to the next in the space of a few hours,” Aramis said.

Porthos stared up at him, stunned. He had never expected to hear that from Aramis. Pulling Aramis to him, he rolled them over so that Aramis was beneath him, pinned to the mattress by his weight. “You are not a whore,” he growled. “I do not ever want to hear those words come out of your mouth again. I don’t care if you go from bed to bed to bed between us. That doesn’t make you a whore, love. It just makes you ours.”

Aramis closed his eyes and shuddered, overwhelmed for a moment by the conviction in his lover’s voice. When he opened them, he found Porthos staring down at him intently. “I love you more than life, Porthos,” Aramis told him, his voice thick with emotion. “I will love you with my last breath. Never doubt that, my love. Please, never doubt that.”

“I do not,” Porthos told him. “I _will_ not. And the same is true for me. I love no other like I love you. I never have and I never will.”

“Then make love to me again,” Aramis said. “Let me feel you inside of me, taking me, making me part of you for just a little while.”

Porthos needed no more invitation than that. He leaned down and took Aramis’ mouth in a hard kiss, thrusting his tongue inside and tasting his lover deeply. The moan he pulled from Aramis made his cock harden in his breeches and he ground against his lover, wanting him to feel how much he affected him.

Aramis gasped as Porthos ground his rapidly hardening cock into his thigh. He was rewarded by his lover shoving his tongue into his mouth deeper still. Feeling his own blood burning with desire, he pushed back against Porthos and stroked his tongue with his own, using those tricks he knew stoked the man’s desire.

“Want you,” Porthos moaned as he continued to kiss and rut against Aramis, enjoying the feel of the man writhing beneath him what little bit he could. Porthos was letting most of his weight rest on his lover, knowing he could take it and knowing how much Aramis enjoyed the feel of being pinned at times. From the way he made only token attempts to free himself, Porthos had to guess that this was indeed one of those times.

“Please,” Aramis begged when he finally pulled his mouth away from his lover’s. His lips were red and swollen from Porthos’ kisses. He gasped loudly when the mouth he had just freed latched onto his neck, biting down and then sucking hard, intent on leaving a visible mark for all to see.

“Please what?” Porthos asked without removing his mouth from Aramis’ throat.

“Please fuck me,” Aramis begged again. “Please shove your cock inside me and fuck me until your spend runs down my thighs.”

“Gonna spend right here if you keep talking like that,” Porthos warned him then bit down hard, earning a strangled yelp from his lover that quickly morphed into a moan of utmost pleasure.

“I want to ride you,” Aramis told him, intent on seeing how worked up he could get his lover before the man simply tore his remaining clothes off and took him. “Can I do that? Can I oil your cock up nice and slick and just slide myself down on it?”

“Aramis…” Porthos growled. He was coming dangerously close to losing control and giving the infuriating man beneath him what he seemed to so badly want.

“Would you like that, love?” Aramis continued to tease. “Would you like to simply lay back and watch me fuck myself on your cock?”

That was the last straw. Porthos kissed Aramis hard just to shut him up for a moment. When he pulled back, he was pleased to see a rather dazed look in his lover’s dark eyes. Taking advantage of the momentary reprieve, Porthos drew his shirt over his head and tossed it aside. He quickly jerked Aramis’ off him as well. He had to sit back to get his pants and small clothes off. By the time he was naked, Aramis had managed to at least get his own open and Porthos helped him to shed them as well.

Once they were both naked, Porthos kissed him again, enjoying the feel of his lover’s naked body against his own. Not wanting to spend like this though, he pulled back and reached into the night stand for the oil they kept there. 

“I meant what I said,” Aramis told him as he sat up next to him. “I would gladly have you lay back and watch me as I ride your cock. Would that please you, my love?”

Porthos jerked him into another kiss, hissing a ‘yes’ against his lips just before shoving his tongue into his mouth once more. Aramis’ took the time to suckle it this time, earning him a throaty groan from Porthos for his trouble. When Porthos broke the kiss, he stared at Aramis for a moment, noting the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. 

“You wanna play that game, love?” he said. “Fine. We can do that. I’m gonna lay down here and you’re gonna get on your hands and knees over me. You can put that pretty mouth of yours to use while I get you nice and ready to ride my cock. That sound okay to you?”

Aramis felt a flush of desire spread all throughout him. He nodded, unable to form a coherent reply as he waited for Porthos to get into position. As soon as Porthos was on his back, Aramis quickly moved over top of him, so that he was straddling his chest, leaving his mouth on a perfect level with his hardened cock.

“Remember, if you make me spend that way, you won’t get to ride me,” Porthos cautioned. He picked up the pot of oil and liberally coated two of his fingers. He rubbed them together for a moment, warming the oil, then spread Aramis cheeks with his other hand. He frowned at the redness he saw there then he remembered what Aramis had said about him and d’Artagnan messing up the other room.

“I am fine,” Aramis said when he felt Porthos hesitate.

“Boy finally took you, huh?”

“Yes. And, as I said, I am fine. He did not hurt me. I am in no pain. I want this, Porthos.”

“Alright,” Porthos relented. “But you tell me if anything hurts more than it should.”

“I will tell you if anything hurts more than it did when you and Athos took me one after the other,” Aramis agreed, reminding Porthos that this was not the first time he had been fucked by two of his brothers in close succession.

“Point taken,” Porthos conceded. “But you ain’t high on the feelings this time and…”

“And?” Aramis prompted.

“And the boy ain’t here to make sure nobody hurts you on accident.”

“I do not need d’Artagnan’s presence to make sure you do not hurt me,” Aramis told him gently. “You will not do so. I may not be lost in a haze of lust but neither are you. We shall both be mindful. Please, my dearest love, allow me to give this to you.”

“Never could say no to you,” Porthos said and brought one well-oiled finger to Aramis’ hole. He circled it gently, noting the redness and slight swelling. All in all, it was less than he would have expected.

Carefully, Porthos pushed against the ring of muscle, testing the tightness of it. He was a bit surprised to find it still quite resistant, having expected it to be more relaxed even with the hours between. Noting the tightness, he sank his finger in slowly and steadily, until it was fully seated earning him a long, low moan from his lover.

“Why don’t you put that mouth of yours to work for a bit,” Porthos suggested, hoping having something to concentrate on might help Aramis to relax. A moment later, Porthos had to bite back his own moan as Aramis licked a stripe from the head of his cock down to his bollocks. 

Porthos took his time stretching his lover, not wanting to cause pain where he did not have to. He paused at every indrawn breath, stilling his fingers and waiting for Aramis to relax again, for his body to adjust to the intrusion. Only when he had three fingers sliding easily inside of him, did he think he was ready to try this.

“Alright,” he said, his voice rough with pent up desire. “We can give it a shot. But if it hurts too much, we stop. There are lots of different things we can do. We don’t have to do this tonight.”

“I know,” Aramis said, smiling at his concern. “But I would very much like to try.”

Porthos helped him to turn and straddle his thighs then handed him the pot of oil so he could slick his cock. He had to clench his hands into fists at the feel of Aramis’ hand on him. The haphazard licks and sucks his lover had bestowed on him while Porthos was preparing him had only whetted his appetite. Now, his lover stroked him twice, spreading the oil all over then set the pot aside.

“Can you… can you hold yourself in place?” Aramis asked as he moved forward.

Porthos reached down and grabbed his slick cock by the base. He held it tight, staving off some of the arousal surging through him. When Aramis reached back and spread himself open then pressed his exposed hole against the head of his cock, that arousal slammed back through him making him have to fight not to simply bury himself inside the other man.

“Oh God,” Aramis moaned as he felt Porthos snug against him. He began to push back but his body resisted. He paused for a moment and took a deep, calming breath. When he pushed back again, his body yielded and the head of Porthos’ cock slipped inside of him.

Porthos groaned as Aramis slowly impaled himself on his cock. It was the sweetest of torture and Porthos was sweating before Aramis had him even half way inside. His legs were shaking as he fought the urge to thrust, not wanting to hurt his lover by making him take him too fast.

“Porthos…” Aramis moaned as he finally sank all the way down on him. He felt so full like this. Porthos always made him feel so utterly taken when he was inside of him and this was no exception. In fact, the position made the feeling even more extreme, almost to the point of being more than Aramis could take.

“Are you alright?” Porthos asked, as he stared up at Aramis. He could see a myriad of emotions flitting across his lover’s face but they were there and gone too quickly to identify. He could feel Aramis’ body clenching and releasing around him, as if it did not know how to accept the intrusion. 

“So full,” Aramis moaned, shaking. “Always so full with you. Always so taken. So good.”

“You sure you can do this?” Porthos asked as Aramis continued to shake atop him. 

“Yes,” he gasped out. “Yes. For you, anything.” Slowly, he began to raise himself up off Porthos’ cock. He only let it slide out of him about half way before he sank back down on it making both of them groan loudly. 

Porthos hands went to Aramis’ hips then, helping support his lover as he moved himself up and down on his cock. In no time at all, Aramis was riding him hard and fast, raising himself nearly all the way off only to slam himself back down again. Porthos watched in awe as Aramis let the pleasure overtake him, his own cock red and straining as he concentrated on pleasuring his lover.

“I’m close,” Porthos told him and reached for Aramis’ neglected cock. He had not wanted to touch him too soon, not wanting to make him spend and take a chance on things turning painful for him. Aramis, however, batted his hand away as he continued to ride Porthos, seemingly unconcerned about his own state for now.

“Aramis, I can’t hold on,” Porthos gasped as he struggled not to spend.

“Spend,” Aramis told him desperately. “Spend inside of me.”

That was all Porthos needed to hear. With a shout, he gripped Aramis’ hips tight and thrust up hard as he began to spend. He gave another short, abortive thrust as he filled his lover with his seed while holding him tight. 

Aramis cried out at the feel of Porthos spending inside of him. He shuddered as he felt the man’s cock pulsing hard and he began to spend as well, covering Porthos’ stomach and chest with his seed. By the time they were done, they were both panting hard and Aramis could feel a delicious ache in his thighs. 

As carefully as he could, Porthos rolled them over onto their sides. He let himself slip from Aramis’ body, wincing as Aramis hissed in pain. He took one of the soft clothes they had taken to putting in the drawers with the oil and gently spread Aramis’ cheeks. His hole was red and swollen and Porthos’ cringed at how sore he knew his lover must be. Taking the softest cloth, he gently dabbed at Aramis’ hole, cleaning him up as best he could without hurting him.

“I am fine,” Aramis told him. “I am not made of glass. I shall not break with a little rough handling.”

“Hush and let me tend you,” Porthos admonished with a smile. “Our Whelp is not the only one who thinks you precious beyond measure. We just fail to show it as often as he does.”

“You never fail to show it,” Aramis told him. “It is in every action you take. Every word you speak. I have never doubted the level of your care. Even when it is excessive.”


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: HUGE WARNING - This part contains a graphic rape scene. It is a dream sequence but it is a very graphic and violent scene. Please be warned and skip this chapter if this sort of thing bothers you.

Part 28

“Perhaps we should retire for the night as well,” Athos suggested some short time later. They had both grown quiet, each man simply contemplating all they had discussed and all that was still lying so heavily between them.

“I would speak with you of something first, if you do not mind,” d’Artagnan said, sounding a bit unsure of himself.

“Of course,” Athos replied at once. “I am here for you, d’Artagnan, in whatever fashion you feel able to allow.”

“I know you are,” d’Artagnan told him then sighed. “I am struggling with something and I do not know if I should speak of it or not. It is something Aramis said to me and the more I think on it the more troubled I become.”

“Perhaps it would be best if you discussed the matter with Aramis himself,” Athos suggested, not wanting to pry into something that might be private between the two.

“I do not think Aramis can hear what I am saying in this regard just now,” d’Artagnan admitted. 

“And that worries you as well,” Athos observed.

“Yes. I am not blind. I know we tend to become wrapped up in one another at times. He neglects you and Porthos both because of me and you are gracious enough to allow it. But this… no man should have this… it is not right.” d’Artagnan had grown more agitated as he spoke, shifting nervously on the sofa.

“We do not begrudge you your time with him,” Athos told him. “He has needed you and you him as well. But… we have missed you. Both of you. But that is talk for another time. Tell me what it is that troubles you so much and let me see if I can help for once.”

“You always help. Your presence alone is a help, brother,” d’Artagnan told him. He took another moment to order his thoughts then began relating his conversation with Aramis. “He told me that there was not a command I could give him that he would not follow. I disagreed. He… he told me I was wrong, that so long as the command did no direct harm to me, he would follow it. Athos…”

“I can see where that might trouble you,” Athos replied trying to hide his own surprise. He had apparently underestimated Aramis’ level of devotion. A lot. 

“No man should have such power over another,” d’Artagnan continued. “I would never abuse it, but… but I am a man. I grow angry and petty and jealous as any other. Just… just today I thought, for a moment, that I should simply take him and leave. I would never do so, I swear to you, but…”

“But the thought was there,” Athos finished for him, understanding his distress more clearly now. “And you do not altogether trust yourself. You are afraid there may come a time when you do more than simply think such a thing and dismiss it.”

d’Artagnan nodded and hung his head, unable to meet his brother’s eyes just then. He had not been proud of himself for his thoughts of earlier but they had not overly troubled him. Not until Aramis had made it clear that taking him away from those he cherished most was something that was actually within his power to do. The thought of that, the weight of that knowledge, terrified d’Artagnan in a way little else could.

“First of all, you are far too good a man to ever do something so callous, not to us and certainly not to him. He knows this. It is why he was able to make such a vow to you in the first place,” Athos told him, firmly believing it. “Second, you need to speak to him of this and make him hear you. I know it will be difficult and I will help you if you need me to but he must know the burden he has placed on you with this. And it is a burden, you cannot tell me otherwise.

“To take responsibility for him is one thing,” Athos continued. “To see to his emotional stability and well-being as you have done, is difficult enough. But what he asks for here goes beyond what any man has the right to ask of another. At least in a situation such as ours. Were the relationship between the two of you alone, I daresay it would be a different matter entirely. But it is not, and that is the crux of what troubles you, is it not?”

“Yes,” d’Artagnan nodded. “I should not be given the power to remove him from your sides. That is not my place. It is not my right and I never wish for it to be.”

“Then speak to him,” Athos advised. “Or, if you feel you would be better served, have me speak to him in your stead. But either way, he must be made to understand.”

“I do not like disappointing him,” d’Artagnan admitted.

“Whelp, you could not disappoint him if you tried,” Athos told him. “Unless you tried to leave him again, but I know you would never be so foolish.”

“No,” d’Artagnan said then grinned. “I shudder to think what my brothers might attempt if I did.”

They did head upstairs after that, both more emotionally drained than physically. If Athos was completely honest with himself, he simply wanted some time to have d’Artagnan close, as well as Aramis and Porthos. They had all been too far apart from each other of late. And with this threat on the horizon, that was something they could ill afford. Not if they wanted to keep each other safe. 

When d’Artagnan opened the door to the main bedroom, he was surprised to find it empty. When he stepped inside and saw the state of the bed, however, he understood just why Aramis might have opted for the other room with Porthos. He had a moment to panic then Athos was moving up behind him and surveying the room himself.

“I take it your reunion was a pleasant one,” he commented.

“Yes,” d’Artagnan replied, blushing a bit though he did not understand why. It was not like they were not all aware of his relationship with Aramis. They were all intimate together, after all. This, the aftermath of their lovemaking, should not make him blush so.

“I am glad then,” Athos told him, meaning it. “Come on, let us get the bed changed before they come looking for us.”

They worked quickly, removing the soiled linens and replacing them with fresh ones. They had just finished when the door between the rooms opened and Porthos came in with Aramis behind. For his part, Aramis was moving a bit slower than normal, actually limping somewhat and d’Artagnan cast a glance at Porthos before looking back at him while Athos merely raised an eyebrow at the pair of them.

“You alright, Boy?” d’Artagnan asked carefully.

The smile Aramis gave them nearly split his face in two. “I am absolutely perfect,” he replied heartily. The room was filled with silence for a heartbeat then all three men laughed and shook their heads, the easy camaraderie they had always seemed to know curling back around them like a familiar cloak.

“We thought we might sleep here with you, if you do not mind,” Porthos said once they had calmed.

“Please,” d’Artagnan said quickly, wanting his brothers with him as well. He, too, realized the distance between them had grown far too great these past weeks.

Porthos was surprised at how eagerly d’Artagnan agreed. He wondered if it was just because Aramis would be with him but the way the boy was looking at him made him wonder a bit. Regardless, he was not going to question it. Not tonight, anyway. 

Since Aramis and Porthos were already in their smalls, they waited for Athos and d’Artagnan to strip down. When Athos made to get into the bed, however, d’Artagnan stopped him. “Let me,” he said and climbed in first so that he was against the wall.

“That is not necessary,” Athos frowned, rather perplexed. Did the boy want Aramis in beside him so that he was the only one near to him? 

“I know,” d’Artagnan told him. “But I have had my time with him and so has Porthos. I thought you might like some time to have him in your arms as well. And this way, I… I can still be close.” The last was said quite softly, as if unsure if Athos actually did want that.

Athos hesitated but a heartbeat, just long enough for the words and their meaning to register then he was climbing onto the bed next to d’Artagnan and wrapped his arms around him. “Do not ever doubt that I want you near,” Athos told him, his voice low and fierce. 

d’Artagnan buried his head in Athos’ chest and let himself be held. He breathed in the scent of the man, letting it calm him. There was a part of him that was still angry, still hurt by what he had done to Aramis, but he was doing his best to let that go. It was only doing harm to his brothers and it had no place here.

After a few moments, d’Artagnan leaned up and kissed him softly on the mouth. “Turn over now so Aramis can lie in your arms,” he said. He did not miss the rather stunned look that was once again on Athos’ face and gently pushed his lover over so that he turned. Once Athos was on his side facing away, he wrapped his arm around his waist and beckoned for the other two to join them.

Aramis climbed in next, looking only slightly less stunned than Athos. He had not expected his Master to let go of his anger quite so quickly. He understood that he was doing it in large part for him and he felt grateful, if a touch guilty. He did not mean to force his Master to do something he did not wish to simply for his comfort. The only thing that stayed his tongue was the fact that he knew that was only part of the reason. The rest was d’Artagnan’s genuine love for Athos, for all of them, and his desire to see them whole once more.

Athos welcomed Aramis into his arms eagerly. He had wanted so badly to be able to speak to him, to tell him how sorry he was for his ill-conceived actions, even if things did work out the way they wanted in the end. He rested his forehead against Aramis’ and held him. He did not try to do more. He had, after realizing just how angry he had made d’Artagnan, been rather concerned for his own continued place at Aramis’ side. 

Aramis waited until Porthos was in the bed with them, all four of them together once more. “Athos, look at me,” he implored softly. He waited until the man looked up at him meeting his eyes then leaned forward and kissed him. It was a tender kiss, reminiscent of their first days together when Athos had been so hesitant, so worried of pushing too far or asking too much. It was a kiss that conveyed care and love and respect along with the underlying desire. 

“I am so sorry,” Athos told him when Aramis pulled back. “I never meant to hurt you. Not in any way. I only wanted…”

“Shhh. I know,” Aramis told him. “I know you would never intentionally cause me harm.”

“And yet I did,” Athos said. “Worse than that, I frightened you. Had it only been pain… well, we are all of us accustomed to that. That is not what enraged your Master so.”

“No,” Aramis admitted, realizing that Athos needed to talk this out for his own peace of mind. “He was not happy about you causing me pain without my permission but that was not the root of his anger. And while the fact that you… frightened me was worse, it was not the thing that truly enraged him.”

“Then what?” Athos asked, not really sure what else it could have been.

“It was that you humiliated me,” Aramis told him. “It… he is right about the memories, you know. While the circumstances were different there are enough similarities that my mind cannot help but to return to that time.”

Athos stared at his lover in horror as the full implication of his actions took hold. He began to pull back, not understanding how Aramis could stand his proximity let alone his touch. He grunted when two sets of arms tightened around him, holding him in place, refusing to let him move away.

“None of that,” Aramis told him. “No more running. Not from you. Not from d’Artagnan. Not from anyone. It is done. It is forgiven. Let it go, brother. For my sake, if nothing else.”

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

Elizabeth smiled as Ficzko poured the blood all around her. He handed her the last of it and she poured it into the black chalice in her hand. Smiling at her helper, she tipped the heavy stone vessel back and drank the thick, cloying contents. She felt the power move within her almost at once. It spread throughout her as the blood moved through her body, nourishing it and feeding her own dark powers. 

This night, her little pet would know suffering. This night, she would reach into his mind and pull out his darkest fears. She would make him watch them again and again until he woke screaming from the horror of it. And he would not be alone. She would make his precious _brothers_ do the same. She was strong enough now, thanks to the virgin’s blood, to reach into their minds as well. She would find their fears and she would make them live them. 

They would get their first taste of the price of defiance. It would be but a sample, just a hint of the horrors to come for them. Just a hint of the horrors to come for **him**. Before she was finished with him, he would know a definition of pain the likes of which he had never thought possible. 

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Porthos moaned softly in his sleep. He clutched at Aramis reflexively. He was cold. So cold. He and Athos and d’Artagnan were in some sort of dungeon from what he could make of it. There were dank, stone walls and they were shackled with heavy chains around their hands and feet that ended at steel rings set into the floor. He cast about for Aramis, but he was nowhere to be seen. Porthos was unsure if that was good or bad. If their brother was still free then there was a chance for them, but if he was not and was being held elsewhere, that did not bode well for Aramis himself.

After what felt like hours, Porthos heard a door creak open. All three of them turned their heads toward the sound and were surprised when Aramis sauntered into the room. He looked as if he had just stepped out of a boudoir, clean and well-groomed. The only thing wrong with him was his eyes. They shone in a way Porthos had never seen them before, as if alit from within by… something.

“Ah, and how are my dear brothers today?” Aramis asked as he approached the bars of their prison.

“Aramis? What is going on?” Porthos asked, unable to comprehend what he was seeing.

“For fuck’s sake, were you always this stupid?” Aramis said, the slick smile never dropping from his face even as Porthos recoiled at his words.

“She has taken him,” Athos said softly, the resignation in his voice painful to hear. “He is lost to us.”

“No,” Porthos denied, shaking his head vehemently. “No, I won’t believe it.”

“Won’t you?” Aramis asked, his grin widening. “How about I demonstrate then?” Aramis whistled and four men faded out of the darkness behind him. They were dressed in black from head to foot and each wore an identical crest on his arm. 

“Which one?” one of them asked.

“Take… the boy,” Aramis said after a moment, a sickening lilt to his voice. “I think I want to see him on his knees for once.”

The four men entered the cell and quickly unhooked d’Artagnan’s chains from his floor ring. Athos and Porthos tried to stop them from taking him, but they were spaced too far apart to reach. They could only look on in helpless horror as their youngest was dragged from their cell and thrown at Aramis’ feet.

“What are you going to do?” d’Artagnan asked as he looked up at his brother standing over him.

Aramis knelt down next to him and grabbed him by his tattered shirt front. He jerked him up until his face was just a few inches away. “I am going to torture you until you are begging to die. I am going to let these men have you until they tire of you. I am going to make you watch while your precious Athos crawls on his belly and licks my boots in the hopes that I might let you live just a tiny bit longer.

“And then, I may decide to get creative.”

“You will not break me,” d’Artagnan told him bravely.

Aramis looked at him for a moment then laughed in his face. He dropped him back onto the stone floor and stood up. “I have no intention of breaking you, boy,” he told him, smiling widely. “I am going to kill you. How soon that happens depends almost entirely on how much your brother will debase himself for your life. And how… resilient you are.”

“Then why don’t you just kill me now and save yourself the trouble.”

“Because I want to watch you suffer,” Aramis explained as if he was talking to a particularly dim child. “I want to watch them suffer. I want to hear you scream. I want to see what it takes to make you cry. Reason enough?”

“Aramis, please,” Athos begged from across the cell. “Do not do this, brother. If you want to hurt one of us, then take me.”

“Begging already, brother?” Aramis smirked. “And I haven’t even laid a finger on him yet. I can’t imagine how much you’ll be begging when you watch these fine gentlemen taking turns at him. Tell me, Athos, how many men do you think it would take to rut him to death? Strong boy like him, I bet it would take quite a few.”

“Please, Aramis. For the love of God…”

“Your god is not here, Athos. Your god left you a long time ago,” Aramis told him, his eyes glittering darkly. “And I do not think you wish to offer homage to my god. I do not think you wish to offer homage to him at all.”

“It’s alright, Athos,” d’Artagnan told him from where he lay. “Do not let this monster make you beg for me. Do not let him hurt you for my sake.”

“d’Artagnan…”

“How fucking noble,” Aramis spat. He turned to the men still waiting behind him. “Strip him then bring that table over here and tie him down over it. I want to make sure his brothers don’t miss anything.”

“Aramis,” Porthos said softly, speaking up for the first time since d’Artagnan had been taken from their midst.

“Yes, dear Porthos?”

“If you touch him, I’ll kill you,” Porthos told him, his jaw clenched so tight he thought his teeth might crack.

“No, you won’t,” Aramis said, smiling brightly once more. “Even if you managed to somehow get free, you would not kill me. Do you know why? Because you would not be able to. You would not be able to bring yourself to kill the other half of your soul. You are of no consequence to me. You are nothing more than my dog, trained to heel. Perhaps, if you are a very good dog, I may even let you out of your kennel.

“Bad dogs, however, may get find themselves gelded if they are not careful.”

Athos and Porthos could only watch while two of Aramis’ lackeys stripped d’Artagnan naked while the other two carried the heavy table over and set it directly in front of their cell. Athos winced but forced himself not to look away as d’Artagnan was drug over to it and shoved down across it roughly. The manacles around the boy’s wrists were quickly secured to the table, ensuring he could not rise, leaving his tormentors free to do as they would without having to hold him down.

“I think I shall take my pleasure with him first,” Aramis announced, moving around behind d’Artagnan and unlacing his breeches. “After all, Athos never did get to break him in. I’m not sure this lot knows what to do with a virgin after all.” He was already hard, had been since he had first had d’Artagnan pulled from his cell. 

He kicked d’Artagnan’s feet apart, forcing his legs wider. He smiled at the grunt it drew from the boy and cast a quick glance at the others. He wanted to make sure they were watching, especially Athos. After all, d’Artagnan’s virginity had been saved specifically for him. Now, he would watch while Aramis tore it from him as brutally as he could.

He spit in his hand and rubbed it on the head of his cock. It was all he planned to use to ease the way. He wanted the ride as rough as humanly possible for the boy, without chafing the skin off his own prick, of course. Spreading his cheeks roughly, he spit directly on his hole. The moan that pulled from d’Artagnan was pure shame and Aramis grinned even more. Placing his cock at the boy’s hole, he let go with one hand to hold himself in place. He paused for a moment, giving the boy plenty of time to tense up then shoved forward hard, burying himself to the hilt. 

The scream that tore from d’Artagnan was like music to his ears and Aramis groaned at both the sound of it as well as the feel of that hot channel gripping him so tightly. He stayed where he was for a moment, enjoying the sensation of being fully encased in the boy’s clenching body before pulling nearly all the way out only to ram himself back inside again.

Athos felt tears sting his eyes as he watched d’Artagnan being brutalized a few short feet away. He refused to take his eyes from them, wanting to offer what support he could to his brother and terrified that if he did, Aramis might punish d’Artagnan for it in some way, though what he could do to him that would be worse than this, Athos could not conceive of.

A few feet away, Porthos sat, staring at the tableau as well. He was shaking with suppressed pain and fear. There was no good way for this to end. Athos was right. Aramis was lost to them. There would be no getting him back this time. Be that as it may, Porthos also knew that Aramis was right as well. Even if he did somehow manage to get free, Porthos would not be able to kill him. He really was little more than his dog, brought to heel at his master’s side, only as free as the leash around his neck stretched.

Aramis could feel the boy shaking beneath him as his body was taken. He leaned over his back and fisted a hand in his hair. Jerking his head up hard, he forced him to look toward Athos. “See how he watches you, slut,” he hissed. “See how he enjoys your pain. I bet he wishes it was his cock reaming your ass right now. Should I give him a go next?”

“Please,” d’Artagnan begged before he could stop himself.

“Oh, what was that?” Aramis asked sweetly. When d’Artagnan failed to answer him he jerked his head back even more and thrust his hips harder still. “Answer me, slut!”

“Please, stop,” d’Artagnan begged, the brutality of the coupling finally more than he could bear. He closed his eyes in shame at being made to beg in such a manner. He had promised himself he would be strong, that he would not make this harder on the others by begging and he had failed them.

“Stop?” Aramis laughed. “You’ve got four more to take after me, boy.”

“I can’t,” d’Artagnan gasped, trying to shake his head even as Aramis held it firmly in his grip. 

“Oh but you will,” Aramis told him. “They are going to fuck you over and over again until there is a puddle of spend at your feet. Maybe afterward I’ll even let you watch while your precious Athos licks it all up. Would you like that, slut?”

“Don’t… don’t hurt him,” d’Artagnan managed to grit out. “Please, don’t hurt him.”

“d’Artagnan,” Athos cried out, unable to remain silent while the boy pleaded for his safety even as he endured such horrific abuse. 

“Beg for his life, Athos,” Aramis told him as he released d’Artagnan’s hair and began to pound into him hard and fast. “Beg for his life if you do not wish to watch me slit his throat as I spend.”

“Please,” Athos began to beg at once, frantic to somehow stop Aramis from killing the boy then and there. “Please, Aramis, I beg of you. I will do anything, brother. Anything. I will take his place. I will be your whore. I will crawl on my belly and lick your boots. Please, please do not kill him. Please.”

Aramis slammed forward twice more and stilled as he began to spend, filling the shaking body beneath him with his seed. He could feel the boy’s body clenching and spasming around him and it only made him spend harder as his body seemed to milk his cock. When he was finally spent, he stepped back, letting his cock slide from d’Artagnan’s abused body carelessly. Looking down, he smiled at the blood he saw coating his member and stepped around the table before tucking himself away, wanting to make sure his brothers saw it as well.

“I’ll be back in an hour or so,” Aramis said to the four men still waiting nearby once he was dressed once more. “Try not to kill him while I’m gone.”

“No!” Athos shouted and sat bolt upright in bed. He looked around frantically, expecting to see dank, stone walls and chains, not the bedroom he shared with his lovers. He was breathing hard, the horrible nightmare he had woken from still screaming in his mind. He noticed then that he was not the only one awake. Porthos and d’Artagnan were awake as well and looked as stricken as he knew he must.

“What… what the hell…” Porthos began.

“Did… did you… dream?” d’Artagnan asked, gagging as he choked back his fear.

“We all… I think…” Athos managed, nausea making his stomach clench painfully. “A cell? And Aramis… was no longer Aramis.”

“He was… oh God,” Porthos groaned.

“We will not let this happen,” d’Artagnan whispered. “We will not lose him to this Darkness.”

“Whelp…” Porthos began only to stop when Aramis let out a moan then a whimper.

They turned as one to look at him. It was clear that Aramis was dreaming as well and whatever he was dreaming of, still had him in firmly in its grip.


	29. Chapter 29

Part 29

Aramis felt something creeping at the edges of his consciousness. He was not quite asleep, hovering in that space between waking and sleeping. At the familiar feel of its sickening darkness, he tried to force himself to alertness, but it seemed to grab him, weighing him down and pulling him under. Between one breath and the next, he was asleep again.

He found himself walking down a hallway, whistling happily, quite pleased with himself though he did not know why. He stopped just outside a heavily barred door guarded by two well-armed men. He nodded to them and they unlocked and opened the door for him. Still smiling, he descended the stairs into what could only be a dungeon of some sort.

He moaned in his sleep when he saw his brothers chained up inside a cell. From that moment forward, he could only watch in horror as he first taunted them then set about destroying them starting with their youngest. 

He could hear d’Artagnan screaming again as he headed up the stairs, one of the other men eagerly taking his place. He watched the monster he had become smile as he stopped on the stairs to listen both to the sounds of d’Artagnan’s pain and Athos’ futile pleas for mercy. 

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Still pale and shaking, d’Artagnan lunged around Athos and grabbed Aramis by the shoulder. He shook him roughly, intent on waking him and getting him out of that hell as quickly as he could. He did not know if Aramis was trapped in the same nightmare as they had all been, but he was not willing to sit around and wait to find out.

Aramis awoke with a gasp, jerked from his nightmare forcibly, he was unsure at first where he was. He scanned the room frantically and when his eyes alit on his brothers he scrambled up onto his knees next to them. 

“Are you alright?” Aramis asked, the fear in his voice nearly choking him.

“Yeah,” Porthos said for all of them. 

“We all seem to have had a nightmare,” Athos said carefully. “You were dreaming as well.”

“It was… it was sickening,” Aramis shuddered. “I was… I was…”

“It’s alright. You’re safe,” d’Artagnan told him. He had moved back so that he was slightly behind Athos once more, still rattled by the horrors he had endured within the dream.

“Oh God, d’Artagnan,” Aramis gasped, paling alarmingly. “What I did to you…”

“So you dreamt the same as we did then,” Athos concluded.

“What?” Aramis asked, confused.

“We all apparently had the same dream,” Athos explained. “A dungeon. Us chained to the floor. You, but not you. And d’Artagnan…”

“How is that possible?” Aramis asked. He was shaking now as well and his complexion was still ashen. He glanced at d’Artagnan but looked away before meeting his eyes, unable to bear the thought of what he might see there now. 

d’Artagnan watched Aramis grow more and more distressed as he realized they had all shared the horrific dream. He saw him glance at him and look away and frowned. That would not do. They could not afford such distance between them. Not now. Not if this thing was attacking them in their own home. For that was what this had been, an attack against the whole of them. 

Realizing that in moving back to his position behind Athos it might appear as though he was hiding behind the man, he deliberately moved to the side so that he was next to him instead. “Look at me,” he told Aramis then.

Unable to deny that tone of voice, especially when he was distressed, Aramis raised his eyes and met d’Artagnan’s. He saw the fear there. There was no way for d’Artagnan to hide that the dream had scared him so he did not even attempt to. He also saw concern and worry and so much love it almost hurt Aramis to look at it.

“That was not you,” d’Artagnan told him. “Yes, it was… obscene. Yes, it was terrifying. Yes, it was our worst nightmare, literally. But it was not you. And we will fight to our dying breath to ensure that it never becomes you. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Master,” Aramis whispered, his shaking calming some with his Master’s words. He turned to Athos and opened his mouth to apologize but his brother held up his hand to stop him.

“Don’t,” Athos said. “As d’Artagnan said, it was not you, brother.”

“And don’t even look over here,” Porthos told him, when Aramis tensed, however, he realized his words had been taken wrong. Reaching out, he grabbed his lover and pulled him against him. “I know you’d never say anything like that to me. Not to me, not to them. You don’t get to apologize for something you had no control over. That’s all I’m saying, love.”

“I love you all so much,” Aramis whispered. “The thought of being made to hurt you… of finding joy in your suffering… I would rather die.”

“Don’t say that,” Porthos moaned, burying his face in Aramis’ hair. “Don’t ever say that. We’ll beat this thing.”

“We will not let it take you, Aramis,” Athos vowed. “Not while we still draw breath.”

It was some time later before they all felt settled enough to dress and head downstairs once more. They found a note on the table from Constance, along with breakfast, saying she had gone out for the day and would see them that night. Though none of them were particularly hungry, they forced themselves to eat then retired to the sitting room.

Aramis lay on the sofa between Athos and Porthos. He had his head pillowed on Porthos’ lap and his feet resting in Athos’. Much to his dismay, d’Artagnan had chosen to take the floor so that he could be next to him as well without having to dislodge one of his brothers to do so. While Aramis was glad to have him so close, he did not like him having to take the floor to do so. 

As he lay there, Porthos’ fingers carding through his hair, he could not help but think back on that horrible nightmare. He thought he remembered feeling the Darkness slipping into his mind again just before he had fallen back asleep. He could not be sure, though. He thought about mentioning it to his brothers, but hesitated. They were already so worried. He did not want to scare them over what could be nothing more than a figment of the nightmare they had shared. 

What he needed to do was to go and see Father Michel. He would be able to tell him if La Oscuridad was back. If it was… if it was, Aramis had no idea what he was going to do. But one thing was for certain, he would not allow this evil to hurt his family. He would not allow it to take him and turn him into… that thing. He would take care of the matter himself before allowing that to happen.

Mid-day had come and gone before Aramis felt himself enough to attempt the conversation with his Master that he knew he had to have. He had given Porthos his word that he would handle the matter and he did not want to let it wait. Too much was happening too quickly to risk it.

“Master, I would like to speak with you about something, if you have the time,” Aramis said, breaking the quiet of the room. 

“Of course, Little One. I always have time for you,” d’Artagnan replied. “Did you wish to do so here or would you like to go upstairs?” d’Artagnan hoped he chose the latter for he had some things he wanted to discuss with him as well and did not want to have the conversation with an audience.

“I would like to go upstairs, please,” Aramis replied.

“Let’s go then.” d’Artagnan stood and held out his hand. He was gratified when Aramis took it though he noted the slight tremor and overall nervousness of his lover. He did not comment, though. He would do what he could to soothe him once they were alone.

d’Artagnan led him back into their room and closed the door behind them. They sat down side by side on the small settee that had been placed beneath the window. Taking Aramis’ hand in his, d’Artagnan squeezed it then turned to the side so he was facing him.

“Alright, Little One, talk to me,” he said.

“I… I think your Boy might have an easier time of this, Master,” Aramis said. He was looking down at their clasped hands as he spoke. He had never before asked his Master to address him in a specific way and was unsure how he would take it.

“Alright,” d’Artagnan replied. “You figured out what I mean by that then?”

“I think so,” Aramis nodded. “Most of it, anyway. Not all, I’m sure.”

“Would you like to talk about that first?”

“You… you would not mind?” Aramis asked, looking up.

“I would not mind,” d’Artagnan told him. “I can see that whatever it is you wish to talk about has made you nervous. I would have you calm first and if this helps in that regard, then so be it. Can you tell me first what you think the difference is between Boy and Little One?”

Aramis nodded and thought for long moments. “Boy is… is not so… delicate as Little One,” Aramis said carefully. “He is not as in need of your protection. He is… rougher. He can take more. He is just stronger, I guess.”

“Yes,” d’Artagnan said. “My Boy is all of those things. He is also proud and passionate. While he is still subordinate to me, it is not quite to the same degree as my Little One. Or perhaps I should say, not to the same level of exclusivity.”

“Master?” Aramis asked, suddenly alarmed.

“Peace,” d’Artagnan told him. “All I meant was that my Boy would probably not mind sharing himself with his other lovers whereas my Little One would never dream of sharing that part of himself with anyone other than me.”

“Oh,” Aramis said. He thought about what his Master had just said and realized it was the truth. He could easily imagine submitting to Athos or Porthos like this, should either of them ever desire such from him.

“I do have a question or two for you,” d’Artagnan said once Aramis had managed to digest what he had told him. “You said you felt that Boy was… rougher. Do I take that to mean you would like me to _be_ rougher with him?”

Aramis felt himself blushing, the heat creeping up his face, but he did not look away. “Yes,” he said, honestly. “I… I would like that very much. I know you could never bring yourself to hold your Little One down and fuck him but your Boy…”

“And does my proud, passionate Boy wish to fight me as I hold him down?” d’Artagnan asked. He was not sure if he cared for the idea of that, but he needed to know what Aramis’ limits were, what he wanted from this, then they could decide together what it was d’Artagnan was capable of giving him.

“I am unsure,” Aramis replied, though his heart was pounding and he was close to panting. “I have never…” 

“Then let’s leave that for now,” d’Artagnan said. “We can discuss it again another time. Or perhaps we can simply see where the mood takes us and be mindful that we are entering unknown territory for both of us.”

“Yes… yes, Master,” Aramis replied.

“Hmm… I meant this talk to help calm you. It seems to have done quite the opposite,” d’Artagnan chuckled.

Aramis looked at him for a second then laughed, the tension leaving his body along with a great deal of his worry. This was his Master. He would understand and he would take care of him as he always did. And if he was angry or, more likely, disappointed, then Aramis would do whatever necessary to make it up to him.

“Alright, now tell me what it is you need to talk to me about that you could not do as Little One,” d’Artagnan told him, still smiling.

“You are going to be… upset with me,” Aramis began, his own smile fading now.

“I seriously doubt that, but you have surprised me in the past,” d’Artagnan replied. “Go on.”

“I spoke with Porthos,” Aramis continued. “I… I told him of our talk… of my vow to you. He… he did not take it well.”

“No,” d’Artagnan said, his eyes holding nothing but understanding and compassion. “I would not have expected him to.”

“I cannot… No, I will not make him live feeling as though there is an axe hanging over our relationship waiting to sever it at any moment,” Aramis told him. 

“Good,” d’Artagnan replied, making Aramis’ eyes widen in shock. “I would not expect you to. In fact, I would be quite upset with you if you were to ever treat him so shabbily.”

“I know you would never…”

“You know no such thing,” d’Artagnan told him gently. “While you were upstairs discussing this with Porthos, I was doing the same thing in the sitting room with Athos. I was telling him that no man should have such power over another. I am but a man, love. I have a temper. I get angry. I need to know that you will be able to keep me in check when I go too far.”

“I have yet to see you go too far, Master,” Aramis told him.

“No, I managed not to. This time.” d’Artagnan did not want to tell Aramis this but he needed him to understand that he was a man and just as fallible as any other. “But I thought about it. I was so angry at both of them for what they did to you. I thought about simply taking you and leaving. But I promised myself I would never make you choose between us. Do you see now why I say you should not give me such power over you?”

“I understand what you are saying,” Aramis told him. “I do. But the fact that you did not, the fact that you pushed aside your own desires for my well-being shows me that I am not wrong in this. I trust you, Master. I trust you completely and without reservation. I am only sorry that our brothers cannot do so.”

“Don’t be,” d’Artagnan told him. “This burden… this burden, I do not wish to bear. It does not belong to me. I have no right to it.”

“As you say, Master,” Aramis replied, conceding the point. “I am sorry that I must rescind my vow to you. I will accept whatever consequences you deem fit for my lapse.”

“Beautiful Boy,” d’Artagnan sighed. “There are no consequences. Not for honoring the bonds you have with your lovers. I am not upset with you. You have neither angered nor disappointed me in any way. Please tell me you believe that.”

“Yes, Mas…” Aramis began then stopped himself. “I am sorry, Master. I will not lie to you. I cannot see how you are not at least disappointed in my failure to honor my own vow, but I shall endeavor to understand it.”

“Good enough,” d’Artagnan said. “And thank you for not lying to me. I would always rather there be truth between us, even if it is something I do not wish to hear.”

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“What do you think that’s about?” Porthos asked as he watched the pair disappear up the stairs.

“I am not sure what Aramis wishes to discuss, but I know d’Artagnan will probably take the opportunity to release our brother from a vow he recently made him,” Athos said somewhat cryptically. 

“You know about that?” Porthos asked sharply.

“Yes,” Athos replied, surprised by Porthos’ reaction. He would not have thought Aramis would have told him, but then Aramis never kept anything from Porthos. “He… was uncomfortable with having that degree of control over Aramis. He did not believe he should have the ability to, as he said, remove him from our sides.”

“I think that’s what Aramis wants to talk to him about,” Porthos said. “He told me about it and I… I didn’t take it well. He said he would take care of it then clammed up. Wouldn’t say a word about it other than that he would see to it.”

“I can understand why you would not take that well,” Athos told him. “Do not fret. d’Artagnan is in agreement that this particular vow of Aramis’ needs to be negated.”

“But doesn’t that mean I’m doing the very same thing?” Porthos asked after a moment. “Dictating how they conduct their relationship?”

“I assure you, d’Artagnan will not see it as such,” Athos told him.

“The Whelp never does,” Porthos snorted. “But it’s the same bloody thing.”

“Perhaps,” Athos shrugged. “But there is little to be done for it. d’Artagnan will not allow this to continue and, in truth, I would not either. The weight of it, it is more than he can bear, Porthos.”

“Alright,” Porthos agreed reluctantly. He glanced back toward the stairs but saw no sign of their brothers. “What are we going to do about this dream, Athos?”

“There is not much we can do other than be vigilant,” Athos replied. “I must believe that it is only this darkness trying to prey upon our collective fears, trying to drive a wedge between us so that it might get Aramis alone again.”

“He would rather die than become… that,” Porthos said, the words soft and strained.

“I know,” Athos replied, his words equally pain-filled. “Neither of those fates shall befall our brother. We will not allow it.”

“What he did to the boy…”

“Stop!” Athos nearly shouted before controlling himself once more. “Stop. I cannot bear to even think of that right now, much less discuss it. I know we must, but not yet. I beg of you, brother.”

“Don’t. Please. I’m sorry. I should not have said anything,” Porthos said quickly, not wanting to hear Athos beg for anything at the moment. 

“I am amazed, though, that d’Artagnan seems to have no… no fear of him at all,” Athos said as he glanced back toward the stairs leading up to their bedroom once more. “I know that he understands that it was but a dream and not truly Aramis but…”

“I know. I am not sure that even I…”

“You would no more hold that against him than you would be able to sprout wings and fly to the sun,” Athos told him. “There is no sin Aramis can commit that you will not forgive. That is a rare gift, brother, and Aramis is lucky to have it.”

“Even if it makes me his dog?” Porthos ground out.

“Say that again and I will not only punch you, I will tell Aramis _and_ d’Artagnan what you said,” Athos told him hotly.

“I’m sorry,” Porthos said shaking his head. “I should not have said that.”

“No,” Athos said, still angry. “You should not have. If Aramis knew he had made you actually think such a thing of yourself, it would **destroy** him. I know you are hurting, Porthos. We all are. But think before you speak, brother. The harm you do could be irreparable.”

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When Aramis and d’Artagnan rejoined them they both seemed somewhat lighter. Aramis still wished his brothers could put as much trust in his Master as he did but he would not push the issue. Not if his Master wished him not to. Besides, he had much more dire things he needed to focus on at the moment.

“If you all will excuse me,” Aramis said as he stood and headed toward where their weapons hung. 

“Aramis?” Athos called, slightly alarmed.

“I am alright,” he said without turning around. “I wish to talk with Father Michel. I would have his opinion on this.”

“I’ll go with you,” Porthos said and started to rise.

“No,” Aramis told him a bit more firmly than he intended to. He softened his voice before he continued. “I wish to alone. Please.”

“Very well,” Athos said before Porthos could protest. “If you are not home in time for dinner, we shall come looking for you, though.”

“Fair enough,” Aramis replied. He donned his pistols and doublet then picked up his hat. He headed out quickly then, knowing that if they tried to make him stay again, he would let them.

The walk to Saint-Severin was not a long one, but Aramis took his time. While he wanted to speak with Father Michel, he was afraid of what the priest might tell him. The last thing he wanted to do was leave his brothers, but he would if it was the only way to protect them from La Oscuridad. 

Finally, he found himself standing in front of the small church. He felt a sense of peace settle over him almost at once and sighed. He had been right to come here. He only hoped it was not the last place he laid eyes on in this life.

“Aramis? What are you doing here, my son?” Father Michel asked almost as soon as he had entered. 

“I am in sore need of your guidance, Father,” Aramis told him sincerely.

“Of course,” Father Michel said at once. He came over and took Aramis by the arm and led him to the front of the church. He sat him down in a pew and sat next to him. “Tell me what troubles you. I had not expected to see you back here so soon after…”

“I know,” Aramis nodded. “But, I am afraid, Father.”

“Of what?”

“La Oscuridad… the Darkness… I am afraid it is still within me,” Aramis whispered, his voice shaking as he voiced his deepest fear.

“Why do you think such a thing?” Michel asked him.

Aramis told him of the dream he and his brothers had shared then, sparing the priest only those details that he did not truly need to know. He told him of watching himself enjoy his brothers’ pain and suffering, of practically wallowing in it. 

“That you all shared the same dream is worrisome,” Michel admitted, “but it does not sound like the Darkness getting a foothold within you again. If anything, it sounds like a more general attack at all of you, as if seeking a weakness to exploit yet finding none.”

“There is more,” Aramis said, his voice strangled. He took a deep breath and forced the last confession out. “I felt it again. I was not sure if it was simply part of the dream, but I do not believe it was. I felt it, right before I slipped back into sleep. I felt it… entering me again. Oh Father, help me, please.”

“Aramis… my son…” Michel moaned, the words pulled from him. He reached out and pulled the distraught man into his arms and held him. “We will fight this, my son. We will fight it and we will win because God is on our side. He will not abandon us. He will lend us his strength and we will triumph.”

“How?” Aramis nearly wailed, his face pressed into the priest’s robes as tears fell from his eyes. 

“By having faith,” Michel told him. “By trusting in Him to guide and protect us. By fighting with every ounce of our strength and by refusing to give in or give up. I do not believe the Darkness has returned to you. I think it wants _you_ to believe that. I believe it needs you to believe that so that it can get inside you once more.”

“How can you be so sure?” Aramis asked. He wanted to believe him. He did, but he would not risk his brothers’ lives without something solid to go on.

“If it had returned, if the Darkness had taken hold of you once more, do you truly think you would have walked in here of your own volition?” Father Michel asked. “Do you think you could have?”

“I… I do not know,” Aramis said.

“Neither do I,” Michel told him honestly. “But I think it would have made you uncomfortable at the very least. I remember how very agitated you were the last time. Do you feel anything like that now? Any illness?”

“No, Father,” Aramis answered.

“Then you have your answer, my son.”

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

Aramis made it home shortly before Constance, much to his worried brothers’ relief. Of course, they had not exactly been idle while he had been away.

“We need a contingency plan, gentlemen,” Athos had said.

“What sort of contingency plan?” Porthos asked warily.

“The sort that comes into play should we fail to prevent Aramis from being taken by this Darkness again,” Athos said bluntly.

“You cannot mean to…”

“Of course not,” Athos snapped. He took a breath and forced his anger away. “Of course not, Porthos. But we need to have a plan in place should that eventuality come to pass.”

“We’ll need a place to hold him,” d’Artagnan said. “Not here. If he got lose here, who knows the damage he could do in an area this populated before we could subdue him again.”

“The Maison then,” Porthos said. “It’s remote enough that if he did get away from us we could run him down before he could reach anyone else. Run him down. God. We make him sound like some kind of animal.”

“If the Darkness takes him again, that is what he will be,” d’Artagnan said. “A very cunning, very dangerous animal and we cannot afford to treat him as anything but.”

Porthos stared at d’Artagnan and clenched his jaw. He tightened his hands into fists in an effort to keep from physically lashing out at the boy. “How can you profess to love him so much and speak of him so coldly?”

“I am sorry if I appear cold to you,” d’Artagnan said, drawing back at Porthos’ anger. “It is the only way I know how to deal with this. If I allow my affection for him to soften my heart then, when the time comes, I may not be able to act as I must.”

Porthos seemed at least mollified by d’Artagnan’s answer and turned his attention back to Athos. “We take him to the Maison. We can keep him there however long we need to without worrying about anyone coming around.”

“Agreed,” Athos said. “I will go and speak with Treville tomorrow and update him. I will also ask him to have Father Michel prepared to help us again if necessary.”

“I think it might be a good idea if we send Constance ahead to the Maison,” d’Artagnan added. “She could get everything ready ahead of time, just in case, and it would get her safely away from here.”

“You believe her to be in danger?” Athos asked.

“Not necessarily,” d’Artagnan shrugged. “But whatever this is, it knows we are here. It would not be that difficult to find out where we live and with whom.”

“You make a valid point,” Athos conceded. “Do you think you can convince her to go?”

“It’s for Aramis,” d’Artagnan replied. “She won’t refuse.”

When Constance finally did get home that night, she found the four men gathered around the kitchen table. “It is really getting cold out there,” she said as she hung up her cloak. “Charlotte says she thinks it may snow before week’s end.”

“Wonderful,” Athos replied. Yet something else to look forward to.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This part contains graphic descriptions of torture. I mean it.
> 
> Also: Many, many thanks to Snow_Glory for all of her help with this. It would not be nearly as good without all of her efforts.

Part 30

Shortly after breakfast Athos and Constance headed to the garrison. They had told Aramis only that they thought it safer for her to keep her distance from them until this matter was resolved. He had readily agreed, making them feel even more guilty for their partial deception. It was necessary, though. If the Darkness did get ahold of him again, the last thing they needed was for it to be aware that they had a contingency plan. In fact, the less the Darkness was aware of Constance at all, the better as far as they were concerned.

“If you two do not mind, I would like to pay another visit to Father Michel,” Aramis told Porthos and d’Artagnan. He was still feeling somewhat on edge from their nightmare and wanted to talk to the Father again. He also wanted to… test himself, as it were. If Father Michel was correct, and Aramis had no reason to think he was not, then as long as he continued to feel no ill effects inside of Saint-Severin he should still be safe. 

“You want one of us to come with you?” Porthos asked, though he already knew the answer. Aramis had been a bit distant ever since that damn nightmare, as if he did not trust himself around them. He knew the Whelp found it particularly painful but refused to show it. Boy wouldn’t push Aramis for anything. 

“No, thank you, love,” Aramis replied. “I shall not be overly long. I just want to have a word with Michel.” He came over to where Porthos sat at the kitchen table and leaned down to kiss him. He poured all of his love into the kiss, as if it were the last he would ever be able to bestow upon him. When he rose back up, he found d’Artagnan already standing by the door with his pistols in hand. 

“Watch yourself,” he said as he handed him his weapons. He leaned up and gave Aramis a light kiss on the cheek then quickly moved off. Aramis had made it clear that he had wanted space. d’Artagnan would see that he got it.

Aramis took the long way to Saint-Severin again, wanting a few minutes to himself to think. He even stopped at the market to pick up some fruit for Father Michel. It was but a small way to show his thanks for the man’s continued support but Aramis thought the priest would appreciate the gesture nonetheless.

As Aramis continued his wandering route, he saw the first flakes of snow begin to fall. _'Lovely,'_ he thought to himself. While no one particularly enjoyed winter, the first snowfall of the season was always the most difficult for him. The ghosts of Savoy may have finally been laid to rest but even his brothers tended to forget that those men had been his friends. Some of them quite close friends, in fact. He could still remember the way Jean would tilt his head when he smiled and the way Philippe always seemed to throw back his head when he laugh deeply. He supposed he could not blame them. Life goes on. Even when we wish it not to.

When Aramis finally walked into the church, he was surprised to find it empty. Normally Michel was in attendance at this time of day. Thinking he was perhaps in the back, he continued inside, relieved when he felt no different upon entering the house of God. 

He was about to call out for the Father when a soft sound drew his attention. Letting his hand settle on the butt of his pistol, Aramis slowly turned. The sight that greeted him made his blood freeze in his veins. Father Michel stood tucked into an alcove, his arms behind his back and a gag in his mouth. A man stood on either side of him, holding his arms. The most chilling part, however, was the long, curved knife Elizabeth Bathory held against the priest’s throat.

“Hello, pet,” she purred. “We were wondering when you would pay your little priest friend a visit. I must say, it’s a good thing you showed up when you did. I was getting rather tired of waiting.”

“You are the one behind all of this?” Aramis asked, unable to believe it.

“Oh yes,” she smiled. “I am a great many things. And I will be a great many more once I have you by my side. Now, take off those weapons and drop them on the ground. You won’t need them where we are going.”

“And if I refuse?” Aramis asked.

“Then you shall watch while I slit your dear priest’s throat,” she told him matter-of-factly. “Then my men will disarm you and you will be drug from here. Either way, you are leaving with me. It is up to you whether the priest is alive or not when you do so.”

Aramis looked at Father Michel. He saw the priest try to shake his head, telling him not to give in to her demands. But how could he not? She was right. He had no doubt that she had more than just these two men with her. He would be overpowered and taken. All resisting would do would cost Michel his life. At least this way, he would be alive to tell the others what had happened to him. If his brothers could get to him in time, he might still make it out of this with his soul intact.

“You will let him live?” he asked, though he knew he could not trust her.

“I give you my word, he will still be alive when you and I walk out of here,” she answered.

“Very well,” Aramis said. He unfastened his weapon belt and laid it on the pew, then held up his hands.

“That’s it?” she asked.

“I was coming to church, not going to war,” Aramis snapped.

“So you were,” she smiled. “Turn around and put your hands behind your back then.” 

Aramis did as he was ordered and was not surprised when his arms were jerked roughly back and his hands bound. The man who bound him took him by the arm and began marching him toward the back of the church while Bathory followed. When they reached the back, another man was standing there and threw open the back door. Aramis was not surprised to find a covered wagon waiting. At least he knew how they planned to get a bound Musketeer out of Paris without being seen. 

“One moment,” Bathory said as the man holding him made to shove him into the wagon. “Turn him back toward the church. I don’t want him to miss this. Go ahead, Ficzko.”

As Aramis looked in through the back door, he saw Bathory’s dwarven servant approach the still bound Father Michel. He could do nothing but watch in stunned horror as he drew out a knife and plunged it to the hilt into the priest’s stomach, twisting it brutally before letting go. As the priest slumped to the floor, Aramis turned to Bathory, tears filling his eyes. 

Aramis opened his mouth to speak but Bathory grabbed his face and squeezed. “This is the price of defiance, pet,” she snarled at him before turning back to her men. “Load him in the wagon.”

They kept him hooded for the entirety of the trip, leaving him little idea of where he was. He thought they had headed north, but with the twists and turns of the road, he had soon become unsure. He felt sick inside at the thought of Father Michel’s death. A good man had died because of him. He was not sure how he would live with that knowledge. Of course, that was assuming he lived through whatever this demoness had planned at all. _At least my brothers are safe,_ he told himself as the wagon thundered on toward their destination. 

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

“Who the devil is that?” Porthos snapped when someone began pounding on their door. 

d’Artagnan frowned as well, unsure who would come knocking on their door at this time of day quite so loudly. Thinking perhaps something had happened to one of the others, he quickly moved to open it. 

As soon as he turned the handle to open the door, he realized it was a mistake. The door very nearly exploded in on him, knocking him back and stunning him for precious seconds. As he fought to get his bearings, he saw men storm into their home. He heard Porthos shout once then everything went black.

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

Aramis had no idea how many hours had passed when he was finally hauled from the back of the wagon. He knew it had been less than a day which meant they were not at the Bathory estate or even close to it. That meant he had no idea where they were. It also meant his brothers would have no idea where to look for him. Well, he supposed it could be worse. 

As he was marched along, he had to wonder if they were even at their final destination. Perhaps this was simply a stop along the way. He did not think so. That would be foolish in the extreme and Madame Bathory did not strike him as a woman to take foolish chances. Ever. Perhaps this was merely the final stop for him. Aramis was surprised at how little that thought actually bothered him. At least if he were dead, he could not be made to hurt his brothers. At least if he were dead, he could not be forced to betray everyone he had ever loved.

They stopped abruptly and he heard the sounds of a heavy door being opened. A hand at his back shoved him forward hard enough he nearly stumbled and he grit his teeth to keep from snarling at his captors. “If we at our destination, I fail to see the continued need for the hood,” he remarked instead.

“Ah, but I have a surprise for you, my pet,” Bathory told him. “I would hate for you to spoil it.”

“Lucky me,” Aramis quipped under his breath.

“You have no idea,” Bathory said, her lips so close to his ear he could feel her breath through the material of the hood. He shuddered as it ghosted across his skin, not even wanting her breath to touch him.

They continued to prod him along, shoving him when he slowed and generally doing their best to try to make him fall. To his credit, he kept both his feet and his tongue until they stopped at what he assumed was another door. At the sound of a heavy bar being removed he knew he had guessed right. 

“Hold onto him,” Bathory instructed. “If he falls down the stairs and breaks his neck I shall be quite cross.”

Suddenly he felt two pairs of hands grip his arms tight enough to bruise. They lifted him up on his toes and began moving him forward. He tried to resist, but he was not match for them, blind and with his arms bound behind his back. Not wanting to risk falling headlong down who knew how many stairs, he stopped fighting and let them take him down. 

Once he was safely at the bottom, he had a moment to get his bearings before his kick to the back of his legs sent him to his knees. He cried out at the sudden pain of slamming his knees into unforgiving stone and glared up at his captors. He only wished the hood was not there to keep them from seeing it. 

“Strip him to the waist,” Bathory said as she descended the stairs. “Boots too. He’ll not be needing those, I don’t think.”

Again Aramis tried to fight as his doublet and shirt were jerked open and down his arms as far as they would go. His boots were also pulled off and thrown aside somewhere by the sound of it. He had a moment to wonder what was next before a thick collar was being clamped around his throat and tightened. He threw his head back, trying to dislodge it but it was no use. He was quickly collared. He felt a sharp tug on the thing and heard the sounds of clanking chains then he was being bent forward slightly, the collar pulled tight. 

Only when Aramis was suitably restrained were his hand cut free and his doublet and shirt stripped from him the rest of the way. His hands immediately went to the collar around his throat and he moaned when he felt the heavy lock and thick chain that led from it down to a ring in the floor. Chained down like an animal, Aramis heard Bathory approach, her gown swishing softly in the otherwise quiet room.

“Are you ready for your surprise, pet?” she asked as she leaned down and caressed his head through the hood.

Aramis shook his head violently, trying to dislodge her hand. He was rewarded for his show of defiance by a sharp slap to the face. “Remember what happened the last time you defied me,” she warned. “You wouldn’t want to watch another friend get his belly slit open, would you?”

Aramis stilled, her words sending a shaft of fear all the way through him. He thanked God once again that his brothers were safely back in Paris where this demoness could not harm them. He did not know how he would survive it if she managed to get her hands on them. When he felt her hands at the back of the hood, he wanted to jerk away again, but forced himself to stay still. If it meant getting the damnable thing off so he could _see_ again then he would endure her hideous touch. Once it was unlaced, she pulled it from his head and he had to blink several times as even the dim light of what was clearly a dungeon blinded him momentarily.

When Aramis was finally able to focus his eyes, he lifted his head as much as the heavy chain would allow. He looked at the fiend standing before him then his eyes moved to the cell he was chained down in front of. When he saw the occupants of it, his heart surged up into his throat and he thought for a moment he would be sick right there.

Porthos was chained toward the back, his hands and feet shackled to a ring set into the stone floor. He was in the exact same position as he had been in their dream. He was sporting several bruises about his face, giving testament to the fight he must have put up. d’Artagnan was chained the same way Aramis was, on his knees with a heavy collar around his throat that forced him to sit hunched over. His chain also ended at a ring set into the floor. 

“No,” Aramis whispered, shaking his head in denial. “No. No. They were safe at home.”

“Sorry, pet. My men paid them a little visit just after you left,” she told him. “I had to threaten to do very nasty things to you to ensure they kept their mouths shut when you were led down here. I didn’t want them ruin your surprise after all.”

“Let them go,” he said, looking up at her as best he could. “You have me. You do not need them.”

“Ah, but I do,” she countered. “I need them very much. You will see. They play a very important part in your… remaking. I dare say, I could not do it without them.”

“I will die before I let you turn me into a monster,” Aramis told her.

“Oh, we’ll see about that,” she laughed. “But first, I think you need another lesson in the price of defiance. Ficzko, bring me my whip, please.”

“Right away, Madame,” Ficzko replied and quickly moved to obey. If there was one thing he enjoyed more than laying down a fresh set of lash marks, it was watching his Mistress do so. She so rarely indulged in such pleasures any more. Watching her do so with her new pet would be a true joy.

Elizabeth tested the whip Ficzko handed her, smiling at his choice. It was one of the barbed one, of course, meant to draw blood from the very first strike. This would leave his back a beautiful tapestry of blood and welts. She would have to be mindful if she did not want to damage him too greatly. Still, she had decades of experience wielding a whip. She knew how to do it without causing him to go into shock or losing so much blood as to be dangerous.

“No,” Porthos snarled when he saw the whip in her hand. He jerked futilely against the chains holding him prisoner. He could not just sit here and watch Aramis be whipped by this woman. 

“I do not believe you are in any position to give orders here, Musketeer,” she sneered. “And if you do not keep a civil tongue in your head, I shall have my men remove it and feed it to him. Do you think he might enjoy tasting you one last time?”

Porthos clamped his mouth shut, afraid of making things even worse for Aramis. It was obvious the woman was crazy. It was also obvious that she had both the will and the man-power to carry out her threats. While Porthos may not care too much about what she did to him, he would not do anything that might make this harder on Aramis.

Up until now, d’Artagnan had remained silent, his head down. He raised his head then and stared at her, his eyes filled with hate. “You will not break him,” he told her calmly. 

“I already have, boy,” she replied. “I broke him the moment you revealed yourself as his master. Now I know his weakness. Now I know just where to push… until… he… breaks. And there is nothing you can do but watch.”

Deciding she had let them stall her quite long enough, she took a step back behind Aramis. She let her arm hang down, the whip dangling from her hand, then snapped it around in a vicious arc. It connected with his back with a resounding snap, the wound of leather hitting flesh seeming to echo off the stone walls. 

Aramis only grunted, swaying forward slightly with the force of the blow. He let the pain roll through him, just as he had taught himself to. He could do this. He would do this. It was simple endurance. And he had endured much worse in his life. If she thought this would be enough to break him, she was sorely mistaken. Aramis had a feeling, however, that she was just getting started. Knowing better than to let his mind think of all the possible horrors to come, he concentrated on the here and now, keeping his breathing steady and riding out the pain.

Porthos moaned softly as he watched the whip strike his lover’s unprotected back. That Aramis did not cry out, that he barely moved under the cruel blow was as much a testament to the strength of his will as it was a frightening indication of the level of abuse he must have suffered in the past. Porthos wished, more than anything right then, that he could take those blows for him. He would do so gladly, shielding his lover with his own body without hesitation. For a hundred lashes of that horrid whip could not possibly hurt as much as watching this.

d’Artagnan knelt in absolute stillness, save for the rise and fall of his chest. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides so tightly they were white. He did not allow himself to shake even though the rage thundering through his veins was nearly overpowering in its intensity. He knew if he started, he would not be able to stop and he had a feeling that Aramis was going to need him before this was over. Even if he did not, he had to be ready. They would make a mistake eventually and when they did, he would slaughter them like pigs for what they were doing to his lover. So he stayed still and he watched the most precious thing in his life being hurt before his eyes.

He tried not to think about Porthos and what this had to be doing to him. He wished he could tell him to turn away, but he did not want to give her anything she might be able to use against them, against Aramis, and he knew Porthos would not do it anyway. He would not abandon his lover just as d’Artagnan himself would not. _’Please, God,_ he prayed as he watched the lash strike Aramis yet again. _’I do not ask for myself. If You wish a life, take mine, freely given. Just let my brothers live. Please, God, I will endure anything, any pain, any horror, I do not care. Just please let them live’_.

By the time she had landed the fourth blow, Elizabeth was frowning. The most she had managed to wring from him were grunts. He did not even try to avoid the blows, merely stayed where he was waiting for them to fall. She was not used to her pets having such a high pain tolerance. She would have to do far more damage than she wanted to at this point, a dangerous amount of damage and that would just not do. No, she would have to try a different approach with this one it would seem.

Throwing down the whip, she began circling the kneeling man. Pain was obviously not the way to break this one. She would destroy his body long before she destroyed his will. As she continued circling, her eyes alit on her other two captives and she nearly laughed in delight. Oh, he would learn the price of defiance alright. He would learn it all too well. 

“You have quite the tolerance for pain, my pet,” she said. “We shall enjoy exploring that together, you and I. But for now, I think it’s time we move on to something else.”

Aramis cast his eyes up at her, the collar and chain, forcing him to keep his head somewhat down. He would dearly love to explore pain with Madame Bathory. Preferably just how much pain he could give her before her head exploded like an overripe melon.

“Oh, my,” she said, feigning a gasp. “Whatever are you thinking, Monsieur?”

Wisely for once, Aramis held his tongue, knowing better than to let her bait him. Not when his brothers were still in her clutches. Once they were safe, however, there would most definitely be a reckoning to be had.

“That’s alright, you don’t have to tell me,” she said as she stroked his hair, pleased by the shudder that ran through him at her overly familiar touch. “Let me tell you what’s going to happen next. I’m going to unchain you from the floor. While that is going on, my men are going to keep their muskets trained on your brothers. If you so much as twitch, they will be shot. Am I understood?”

“Yes,” Aramis growled. 

“Very good,” she said, continuing to run her hands through his hair. “Then I am going to move back out of the way and you shall be allowed to choose.”

“To choose what?” Aramis asked warily. 

“Why which of your brothers you intend to torture of course,” she replied blithely, chuckling as she watched the color drain from Aramis’ face at a rather alarming rate.

“And if I refuse?” Aramis asked, swallowing back the bile suddenly filling his throat.

“Then I will roll a die to decide which one I have executed in front of you,” she replied. “The choice is, of course, yours. Torture one and they both live. Refuse and at least one dies immediately. Continue to defy me and, well…”

“I cannot,” Aramis told her starting to shake. How could she expect him to do such a thing? How could she expect him to simply choose one of them to… to hurt? It was obscene. It was… it was his nightmare come to life. He could not do this thing. He could not, not and hold on to what remained of his sanity.

“Aramis,” d’Artagnan called softly, forcing his head up as far as the chain would allow. He waited until Aramis had stopped and was looking at him. “Do as she says. Allow them to free you and then… then tell them you choose me. Do you understand me? Tell them you choose me.”

“d’Artagnan…”

“Do you understand me?” d’Artagnan said again, his voice sharp and firm in a way it never was with him. He could do this. He _would_ do this if it meant his brothers were spared. He would simply do as Aramis would and trust in God to give him the strength he needed to see this through. 

“Yes,” Aramis said, nodding his head jerkily. “Yes, I understand.”

“Good,” d’Artagnan replied. He cast his eyes over to Bathory. “Free him. He will not fight you.”

Highly amused at this turn of events, Bathory nodded to her men. She held out her hand to Ficzko who handed her the key to Aramis’ chains. She unlocked the chain attached to the collar, but left the collar itself in place. She rather liked the way it looked on her pet after all. Once he was free and had climbed somewhat unsteadily to his feet, she returned the key to Ficzko and moved back out of arm’s reach.

“Shall I tell you what it is you’re going to do to your dear master?” she asked, barely able to contain her laughter. She thought it rather poetic actually, for the slave to be branding the master for once. She motioned for one of her men and he walked over carrying a white-hot branding iron in the shape of the Bathory family crest.

“You… you wish me to brand him,” Aramis said, feeling sick at the very thought of burning such a mark into d’Artagnan’s tender flesh. How could anyone expect such a thing of him? 

d’Artagnan had just managed to utter a small prayer of thanks when he saw the branding iron being handed to Aramis. He felt the blood drain from his face and swallowed thickly when he realized what he was in store for. _’O Lord, help me to be strong,’_ he offered up in silent prayer before steeling himself for the inevitable.

“It’ll be okay, Whelp,” Aramis heard Porthos whisper and looked up sharply. He saw the way d’Artagnan’s eyes were fixed on the branding iron, the way his skin had grown pale and grey at the thought of it. He also saw the way the boy held himself, his back as straight as the short chain would allow, meeting his fate head on, no matter how scared he had to be.

“Shall I have them bring the boy out now?” she asked gleefully.

“No,” Aramis said calmly, causing d’Artagnan to nearly choke himself as he tried to raise his head to look at Aramis. 

“What are you doing?” d’Artagnan gasped. 

“So you choose your other brother then. Very well,” she said.

“No,” Aramis said again.

“I am sorry,” she laughed. “Is there another brother here I do not see?”

“Yes,” Aramis replied just as calmly. 

“No!” Porthos roared a second before Aramis could finish his reply. 

“Me,” Aramis finished a moment later.

“Aramis, no,” d’Artagnan said as well. “You will not do this. I… I forbid you to do this. Do you hear me? You will have me taken from this cell right now, Boy.”

“I am so sorry, Master,” Aramis said, his eyes full of love and apology. “But this is the one order I cannot follow.”

“Fine then,” Bathory said tersely. If her pet wanted to take the pain for his brothers she would see how long he could hold out. 

“Is there a particular place you would like it?” he asked, not wanting to give her an excuse to make him do it a second time. Not that he thought she would need one. If she wanted him to do it again, he would. He would press the heated metal to his flesh a dozen times over before he ever let it touch his brothers.

“Your right shoulder,” she said, quite aware of his status as a marksman and where the butt of a musket came to rest.

“As you wish,” Aramis said swallowing thickly. He looked across at his brothers again and saw the naked fear in their eyes. “Do not watch me. Please.”

“We will not leave you,” Porthos told him, his voice strained as he tried to hold back his tears. He knew he had no chance of making Aramis change his mind and choose him instead, not if even the Whelp could not order him to. But the thought of watching him sear her mark into his own flesh was sickening. “You would not abandon us, do not ask us to do so.”

Aramis nodded once and reached out with a less than steady hand to take the branding iron. He was about to burn her crest into his flesh. The knowledge that he would be marked as hers until the end of time was like a lead weight in his belly and he fought against the nausea rising within him.

He held the iron in his left hand, bracing it with his right. He took a deep breath and held it. He shoved the iron against his shoulder hard and fast. He could not stop the cry of pain that erupted from his mouth at the searing agony that lanced all throughout his body starting at his shoulder. His hand spasmed from the shock of it and the iron clattered to the floor. He bent over, panting, bracing the arm of his uninjured shoulder on his thigh as he tried to ride out the pain.

As he panted through the pain of it, the searing agony all down his arm was nothing in comparison to the agony of knowing _her_ mark was now upon him, burned into his flesh for all of time. It felt as though it reached all the way down to the bone, marking him forever as unclean. Bathory was poison. She was the kind of rot that settled in a man’s gut and ate away at him from the inside out. The only difference was that this rot was not eating away at his body but rather his soul. And when it was finished, instead of a desiccated husk to be rolled into the ground, he will have become a thing of nightmares. A perfect agent of evil marked forever as her slave.

Bathory walked up behind him then and slid her arm around his waist and up his chest. She forced him upright, her hand stroking over him proprietarily. She felt him shudder at her touch again and smiled. Still fighting it seemed, how nice. This one would be magnificent when he was finally broken to her will. She continued to stroke his chest, locking eyes over his shoulder with his brothers. She let her other hand come to rest on his injured shoulder and squeezed, drawing a moan of pain from him even as he tried to suppress it.

“That was exquisite, pet,” she whispered in his ear. “Even more beautiful than I imagined. You look divine with my mark upon you. Tell me, do you think it would look as lovely on your cock?”

Aramis tried not to react. He did not want to show her any weakness, any sign of fear. He knew it was futile, though. What man in his right mind would not be terrified of such a thought? Still, he had his brothers to think about. He had to be strong for them. There was still a chance, after all, that they might get out of this intact.

Sensing he had recovered somewhat, Elizabeth stepped back once more. She eyed him appraisingly, taking in his apparent self-sacrificing nature. So he would take the pain for his brothers, would he? Well, let’s see if he would be quite so willing to when it was his pretty face at stake. 

“Are you ready for the next one, pet?” she asked sweetly from the other side of the room.

“Your wish is my command,” Aramis sniped, refusing to allow the bitch to cow him completely. 

“Excellent,” she replied. “Ficzko, give him a knife.”

“Yes, Madame,” Ficzko replied as he took a knife from his belt and approached Aramis. It looked just like the one the man had used to stab Father Michel and Aramis had a moment to consider turning it on the dwarf.

“I would not, if I were you,” Bathory told him. “I can do a great many things to them without even coming close to killing them.”

With a snarl, Aramis snatched the knife from the man, his hand gripping the hilt so hard his fingers ached. He did not want to think about what she might want him to do with it. He did not want to think about what all she could try to force him to do to his brothers with such a thing.

“Again, the choice is yours,” she said once Ficzko was safely back by her side. “You may choose which of your brothers you turn that knife on.”

“And what is it I am doing with said knife?” Aramis asked, stalling for a moment as he tried to get his emotions back under some semblance of control. He needed to get his wits together if he was going to get his brothers through this in one piece.

“Their face, I think,” she said. “I want to see you scar one of their faces. Perhaps the big one. You could give him a scar to match the one he already has.”

“Aramis, do what she says,” Porthos said at once, desperation coloring his every word. “Choose me this time, please. I can take it. You know I can. What do I care what my face looks like? The boy’s too young and you can’t… you can’t do that to yourself. Please, brother.”

“Aramis,” d’Artagnan called softly again. He knew it was likely futile after the last time but he had to try. He could not bear the thought of Aramis scarring his own face to protect them. He could not stand the thought of him hurting himself further. He would rather endure the pain himself than have to witness that, than for Porthos to have to witness that. “Please, do as I say. I can take it. I am young and strong. Please, let me bear this burden.”

“If either of you think I could take a knife to your face and live with myself afterwards then you know me not at all,” Aramis told them, his voice sounding much steadier than he actually felt. “I make the same choice as before, Madame. I choose myself.”

“Well, in that case, why don’t you make it two,” she told him. “Make them deep enough to scar or I will have your brothers held down and their faces all but stripped from their skulls.”

“I will not disappoint,” Aramis assured her. And he would not. He would not dare risk it. 

He took the knife and held it up to this right cheek. He had to use his left hand as his right arm was nearly useless from the pain of the branding. He had a moment to think that at least his lovers would no longer have to worry about his faithfulness then he was driving the knife in deep and slashing outward. He took a moment to simply breathe, forcing down the wave of nausea that tried to overtake him then he raised the knife again and repeated the process, tearing another bloody stripe across his face.

He had not realized he had screamed as he tore the blade through his face. He could dimly hear shouting but it sounded far off, as if he were hearing it through water. He panted again, trying to quell the nausea roiling through him as he rode out the sickening waves of pain.

He let the knife clatter to the ground the same way he had the branding iron and fell to his knees. He could hardly see through the tears that flooded his eyes at the pain in his face. He wanted to reach up and touch it, to see how bad the damage was but he did not dare. He knew it was bad. He had dug the knife almost all the way through his cheek. The scarring would be quite ghastly if he did not get it sewn up soon.

“Oh you are an absolute joy,” Bathory shrieked as she clapped her hands together. She could smell Aramis’ blood, heavy and thick in the air and it excited her in a way that little else did. Drawn to it, she moved across the room and knelt down next to him. Gripping him by the hair, she leaned in close and licked a stripe up his bloody cheek, reveling in the taste of him even as he tried to cringe away.

“Please. Please, stop… stop hurting him,” Porthos begged from inside the cell, unable to watch Aramis suffer any longer. He knew it was futile but he had to try. He would kiss this bitch’s feet if it would spare his lover any more pain. Having to sit by powerless and watch while Aramis tore himself apart for them was killing him as surely as any blade. 

“Listen to how your brother begs,” she crooned in Aramis’ ear. “He sounds so sweet. Does he always beg so sweetly for you? Or are you the one who normally does the begging? Is that it, pet? Are you their whore as well as their brother?”

“I am going to fucking kill you,” d’Artagnan swore and lunged forward, not caring that the collar around his neck was choking him. All he cared about was getting to Aramis, was stopping this… this thing from hurting him anymore. He would tear her apart with his bare hands. He would choke the life from her and smile while he did it.

“Temper, temper,” she tsked, shaking her head. 

“Whelp, stop,” Porthos whispered, soft and insistent. “This won’t help him. It’ll only make her punish him more. Come one, lad. He needs you to be strong for him. We… we both do.”

d’Artagnan squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to stop fighting the collar and chain. He kneeled on the stone, silent and still once more. He felt his heart break when he glanced at Aramis and saw the bloody ruin that his lover had been turned into. 

“That’s better,” she said. “I think your boy needs to learn some manners. Perhaps I should have him drug out and shown some.”

“No, please,” Aramis said at once, his words coming out slurred from the pain. “Do not hurt him.”

“Fine. A final choice then,” she said. “You may choose who endures it. But this time, you must choose before I tell you what it is.”

“Me,” Aramis said at once. “I choose myself.”

“Aramis, no,” d’Artagnan tried to argue. “You cannot take any more. Let it be one of us instead. Let it be me, brother. Please. I’m begging you, Aramis. Please. Please.”

Bathory smiled as she stood up once more. Of course he had chosen himself. She had known he would after all. And now it was time to truly break him. Well, almost. It would take a bit more after this, but he would be teetering right on the edge. The slightest bit more would be enough to push him over.

“Pick up the knife you dropped,” she said as she moved back out of range again. “You will kneel on the floor in front of your brothers and they will watch while you put out your eye.”

“No!” Porthos gasped, shocked.

“No,” d’Artagnan said as well. “No, you cannot do this. Change it. He chooses me. Do you hear me? He chooses me!”

“It is far too late for that,” Bathory told them, thoroughly enjoying the smell of their panic. “Put out your eye, pet, or I will have both of them blinded in your stead.”

“That… that is not necessary,” Aramis said, his voice detached as the horror of the situation finally took hold. “I will… I will comply.” 

“Please, Beautiful Boy,” d’Artagnan said, tears falling from his own eyes now as he watched his lover prepare to do the unthinkable for them. For him.

“I am so sorry, Master. I love you so very much. Look after Porthos for me. He will… he will need you in the days to come,” Aramis said. He knew it was terribly selfish of him to say goodbye like this but if the shock and blood loss did not kill him then infection likely would. And if that did not, well, she was not finished with him yet, that much was clear. 

“Aramis…” Porthos trailed off, his whole body numb. This could not be it. It could not end like this. They just had to hold on a little longer. Athos would come for them. He would.

“I love you. You are… well, you know what you are. We will be together again one day. I will wait for you there.”

Aramis took the knife and placed the tip just under his eyes. He kept his eyes open, not wanting to miss a second of seeing his lovers, even like this. He tried to keep hope, tried to tell himself that Athos could still come, that this was not necessarily a death sentence, that he could still be a Musketeer with only one eye…

Taking a deep, steadying breath, he pressed the tip in until he felt the skin give. He could not seem to stop shaking but he thought that was rather understandable, given the circumstances. He held his breath then and braced himself for the pain when a hand clamped down on his wrist, stopping him and pulling the knife away from his face.

“My goodness,” Elizabeth said, awed. “Such bravery. I am impressed.”

“What?” Aramis asked, confused at the sudden, unexpected reprieve.

“I am not ready for you to be quite that much of a bloody ruin. Not just yet anyway.” She turned to her men and motioned them over. “Have him stripped to his undergarments. Then douse him in cold water and have him chained out in the woods with the others for the night. Perhaps that will improve his attitude a bit.”

Porthos and d’Artagnan could only watch helplessly as Aramis was jerked to his feet and stripped to his smalls. He was drug back up the stairs roughly, barely able to keep his feet under him. There was a small window at the very top of their cell and, through it, they could hear their lover being forced outside into the cold and snow. They heard a splash and a shout and realized it was the sound of Aramis being doused as Bathory had instructed.

“He’ll freeze to death,” Porthos snarled.

“Then his torment will be over,” Bathory replied without care. “Though I must say, I am rather curious. He seemed quite ready to sacrifice everything for the pair of you. It rather makes me wonder what you would be willing to do for him.”

“Name it,” Porthos shot back before he could stop himself, realizing too late that he had probably played into her hand. 

“Let’s start with you, d’Artagnan,” she said, ignoring Porthos for the moment. “Tell me, would you die for him? Would you give your life if you thought it would save him from all of this?”

“Yes,” d’Artagnan replied without hesitation. He would and he would not regret it. If his life could spare Aramis this pain then he would consider it well spent.

“Would you _take_ your own life?” she asked then, well aware of the difference and what it meant to those of the Catholic faith.

“Yes,” d’Artagnan replied again without the slightest hesitation. He did not think God would be so cruel as to consign his soul to hell for trying to save his lover but if He did, then so be it. It was a price d’Artagnan would willingly pay as well.

“Would you kill your brother?” she asked shrewdly, grinning as she waited to see what the boy would say. It would be interesting to see just how much she could pit these two against each other while out from under Aramis’ watchful eye.

“No,” d’Artagnan replied flatly. He closed his eyes against the pain of that denial. That was one thing he could not do, could never do. Porthos was sacrosanct to Aramis. Aramis would rather die himself than lose Porthos. d’Artagnan understood that and he would honor his lover’s unspoken request in this.

“Interesting,” she mused. “And what of you, Porthos? Would you be willing to kill young d’Artagnan here if it would save dear Aramis?”

Porthos opened his mouth to reply but d’Artagnan was quicker. “Yes, he would,” he answered for him. “Without hesitation or regret.”

“Indeed?” she smiled, turning away and heading slowly up the stairs.

Aramis was shaking so hard his teeth were chattering by the time they shoved him into the woods. They didn’t take him far into the tree line but it was far enough. The snow on the ground, coupled with the scattering of trees immediately reminded him of another snowy forest he would much rather forget. 

He tried to resist as they forced him to his knees on the snow covered ground. They tied each hand to a spike pounded in the ground, forcing his hands down by his sides. He could feel the blood freezing on his face and had a moment to think that at least the cold was helping to slow the bleeding. He had no idea how long they planned to keep him out here but, soaking wet and nearly naked, he would not last long before hypothermia set in. The shock and blood loss of his earlier mistreatment would only end up speeding that along. 

Another man knelt down and forced his ankles together. He bound them tightly as well, further restricting both his movement and his circulation. “Don’t worry,” he laughed as he stood up. “The girls will keep you company till we come back.”

Aramis frowned at him, not understanding what he meant. The man nodded his head and Aramis looked toward where he gestured. The sight that greeted him, tore a moan from inside of him that he simply could not hold back. There, half buried in the snow, were the bodies of half a dozen or more young girls. He could see horrible gaping wounds on them, obviously made by a blade of some sort, along with the signs of other, more recent desecrations. 

_Wolves,_ his mind supplied. _And crows._

As he stared at the bodies littering the ground, the snow only partially obscuring their wounds, he could not help but find himself thrust back in time to another snow covered forest where he awoken surrounded by the bodies of his brothers, all dead save for him, the freshly fallen snow blanketing them.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thanks to Snow_Glory for all of her help and endless patience with this!!

Part 31

Athos and Treville arranged for a horse to take Constance to the maison. They had loaded it up with enough food to last for a while as well as an extra pair of pistols. Athos had also given her two sets of restraints and several lengths of rope.

“Set these up in one of the spare bedrooms. Make sure they are secured well,” he told her.

“Do you really think it will come to that?” she asked, shuddering at the implication.

“If we have to fall back to this, then yes, it will most assuredly come to that,” he told her. “I have no wish to scare you, but you need to be prepared. If this Darkness takes him, he will not be the Aramis you know any longer. We will be fighting for his very soul, Constance. You must be ready.”

“I will be,” she told him, taking the proffered items. “Let’s just hope it does not come to that.”

“Agreed, Madame.”

“I have added some medical supplies to your provisions,” Treville said as he approached. “If this goes to hell on us we have no idea what shape Aramis, or any of you, are going to be in by the time we get there.”

“A wise precaution,” Athos said. “He has shown a tendency toward viciousness during these incidents in the past. I have no reason to believe it would be any different if it happened again.”

The two men watched her ride out, relieved that she would be out of the city and, hopefully, out of harm’s way. While Treville was not overly thrilled about the idea of her being at the maison all alone, he knew it was the best option. Still, the sooner they got this matter taken care of once and for all, the sooner they could all breathe easier.

“I am going to head back home,” Athos told him. “I want to let the others know that Constance is on her way.”

“Alright,” Treville. “I’ll head to Saint-Severin later this afternoon and let Father Michel know that we may be in need of his services again. Would you mind if I stopped by afterward?”

“Not at all, Sir,” Athos grinned. “Stay for dinner with us. It would do all of us good to be around someone else for a bit.”

Athos realized something was wrong before he was even close to the house. He could see the front door hanging askew, and broke into a run, his hand going to his pistol. He stopped when he reached the broken in door, forcing himself to think like the soldier he was rather than the terrified lover he also was. Moving slowly, he scanned the interior for signs of movement. When he saw none, he carefully moved past the debris and into the kitchen.

The signs of a struggle were clear. The kitchen chairs were knocked over and there was a worrying bloodstain on the floor near the door. It was not large, telling him it had not been a killing blow. Moving further into the house, he found even more destruction in the sitting room. The sofa was in pieces and blood spotted the floor here as well. Again, not enough to indicate any fatal damage but enough to tell him his lovers had put up a fight and had been hurt.

He stopped then and listened, hoping to hear something, anything, but all he could hear was the sound of his own harsh breathing. Knowing that whatever had happened here was long over with, he began to call out for his lovers, hoping futilely that at least one of them might answer.

“Aramis! Porthos! d’Artagnan!” Athos called as he quickly made his way through the rest of the house. Nothing else looked out of place. All of the damage was confined to the kitchen and sitting room. Whoever had done this must have taken the others by surprise. But taken them where?

With no time to lose, Athos ran back out of the house and toward the garrison. He needed to find Treville and let him know what had happened. At the moment, he had no idea where to even start looking for them. They had all been home when he had left, but that did not mean they had all been there when the attack had taken place. Aramis had been going to Saint-Severin rather regularly. Athos would not be surprised to find he had gone there again this morning. He hoped he had. For it would mean he had not been taken along with d’Artagnan and Porthos. 

Treville was just heading out of the garrison to go and talk with Father Michel when Athos came rushing in, nearly knocking him over in his haste. “My God, man, what is it?” he asked, grabbing the man and giving him a shake.

“Someone has attacked our home,” Athos told him urgently, his voice low to keep anyone else from overhearing. They did not know who was responsible and he was not willing to trust anyone other than the Captain at the moment. “I can only assume that at least Porthos and d’Artagnan were taken. I do not know about Aramis. There is a chance he went to pay a visit to the priest.”

“Let’s go,” Treville said, keeping hold of Athos’ arm and steering him toward the church. The sooner they got there the sooner they would know if Aramis had been taken as well. They made their way there quickly, people moving out of their way when they saw them coming. As soon as they opened the door, however, they knew something terrible had happened. 

The smell of blood hung heavy in the air. Both men drew their weapons and proceeded cautiously. They found Father Michel lying in a pool of his own blood. Treville rushed to him, kneeling down and checking for any sign of life while Athos continued to scan the room in case his attacker might still be near.

“He’s alive!” Treville shouted, shocked. “Help me get him out of here.”

Athos turned at once, tucking away his pistol as he looked for something to carry the priest on. As he did so, his eyes fell on Aramis’ weapon belt lying discarded a short distance away. He gasped at the sight of it and picked it up. His lover had been here and most likely when the priest had been hurt. Had he… had he… No, Athos would not believe that. Aramis could not be that lost to them already. He had been here and whoever had done this to Father Michel had likely taken him just as they had taken Porthos and d’Artagnan. If they had any hope of finding out who was behind this, they needed to get the injured priest to a doctor as quickly as possible. He was the only one who could help them now.

It was touch and go but by some miracle Father Michel had hung on. He was still unconscious, though, the doctor unable to tell them when he might wake up. It could be an hour or a day, he had told them. Athos did not know if his brothers had that much time. Especially Aramis. He recalled their shared nightmare and felt a wave of nausea so intense he actually gagged before getting himself back under control. He had sworn to both Aramis and d’Artagnan he would not allow such a fate to befall them. If he was wrong… if he failed them in this… he forcibly shoved that thought from his mind. Now was not the time for despair. He would trust in Aramis to hold on until he could come for them. He would trust in all of his brothers to hold on.

It was nearly five hours later before the old priest finally began to stir. Athos had gone from sitting to pacing to sitting again, going quietly insane the longer he was forced to wait and do nothing while God alone knew what was being done to his family. He came around slowly and Athos had to fight his urge to shake the man awake.

“Michel?” Treville called. “Michel, can you hear me?”

“Treville?” Father Michel replied hoarsely. 

“I am here, old friend,” Treville said. “Can you tell us what happened? Who did this to you?”

“Aramis,” Michel gasped suddenly, clutching at Treville.

“Aramis did this?” Treville said in disbelief.

Michel shook his head. “No,” he grit out. “She took him. She told him, if he went with her, she would let me live. I tried to tell him not to do it.”

“Aramis would never have simply turned his back on you,” Athos told him. “He would have done whatever he could to save you.”

“Do you know who they were?” Treville asked, understanding that time was of the essence. 

“No,” Michel said. “But she had a… a dwarf with her. I think she called him… Fick-something…”

“Did she say where they were taking him?” Athos asked urgently. “Were Porthos and d’Artagnan there as well?”

“He was alone,” Michel told him. “And she did not say, but she had a wagon awaiting in back of the church.”

“Thank you, Michel. You have been a very great help. Rest here and heal, my friend.”

“Get him back,” Michel said, gripping Treville’s arm and holding on. “Get him back before…”

“We shall,” Treville promised. “We shall.” He found Athos waiting just outside of the priest’s sickroom. 

“Bathory,” Athos said before Treville could ask. “It is the Bathory woman.”

“Do you think she has taken him back to her estate?”

“No,” Athos replied. “It would take over a day. She would not be foolish enough to risk staying overnight with him, even with guards. And then there are Porthos and d’Artagnan to contend with as well. Even if they are not together, I must conclude that it is she who is behind their abduction.”

“Agreed,” Treville said. “So where do we start?”

“She may not have returned to her estate, but I believe she would have headed in that direction,” Athos said, setting off toward the stables. “It would be the most strategically sound.”

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

They could hear him through the window, screaming. It had started about an hour ago. d’Artagnan would have expected Aramis’ voice to give out by now, but it did not. He just continued to scream. Sometimes he would stop for brief moments. d’Artagnan was not sure what scared him more, the sound of Aramis’ screams or the sound of his silence. 

Porthos had gone quiet not long after Aramis had begun to scream. d’Artagnan could not blame him. There was not much to say. They both knew what it was their lover was likely remembering, what horror he was likely reliving in his mind. And Porthos had a much better idea of it than d’Artagnan ever would. 

d’Artagnan heard the door at the top of the stairs swing open and tensed. “Porthos,” he whispered then jerked his head toward the stairs, alerting his brother. He heard Porthos grunt a soft reply and stilled once more.

“My goodness, he is loud,” Bathory said as walked in front of their cell. “Who would have thought a little snow would be so… affecting.”

“What will it take?” d’Artagnan asked, knowing he had to do something. He could not simply sit here, chained in this cell while Aramis slowly froze to death, trapped inside one of the worst nightmares of his life. 

“Whatever are you talking about?” Bathory asked, grinning.

“What will it take for you to bring him inside?” d’Artagnan asked. He did not care what she asked of him. He would pay it and gladly. “If you leave him out there much longer he’ll freeze to death.”

“My my,” she mused. “So gallant. So… self-less. So ready to sacrifice yourself. Tell me, boy, if you are so ready to sacrifice yourself for your brothers, would you do the worst of all? Would you take his place? Be my pet in his stead?”

“Yes,” d’Artagnan told her at once. He would agree to anything if it would get Aramis back in here. 

“Well then, I suppose I should go and have him brought in.” With that she made her way back up the stairs, leaving the pair alone once more.

“Whelp,” Porthos began, shocked at what he had agreed to without a second thought.

“Don’t,” d’Artagnan told him. “If it gives Aramis a chance then it’ll be worth it. But don’t you hesitate to kill me if she really does do go through with it.”

“I can’t…”

“You can and you will,” d’Artagnan told him. “Because you know the first thing she’ll have me do is hurt _him_. Understand?”

“Yeah, Whelp,” Porthos said sadly. “I understand. But if you think what you’re doing here won’t kill him, you’re wrong.”

“He’ll have you and Athos to get him through it,” d’Artagnan told him. “I have to give him the chance, Porthos. If we don’t do something, he’s as good as dead and you know it.”

“Brother… brother, I’m sorry,” Porthos said, fighting back tears.

“It’s alright, Porthos,” d’Artagnan told him gently. “We all did the best we could. Don’t be sorry. Just be there for him… and Athos. He’s going to need you, too.”

“I will,” Porthos told him. “Don’t you worry about them. Don’t you worry about them at all.”

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

“Here!” Treville cried, drawing Athos’ attention at once. They had picked up the wagon’s trail outside the city easily enough, but had lost it after a few hours. They had spent the next hour backtracking, looking for some sign they had missed. Without something to go on, they had no way to know if they were even still headed in the right direction.

When Athos reached him, he found Treville clearing away some brush. Brush that had been deliberately placed to obscure a set of familiar wagon tracks as well as the prints of a horse in dire need of reshodding. With the trail once more before them, they mounted and pressed on. 

Athos tried not to think about the time lost and what all might be happening to his brothers while they had searched in vain. They would find them. He and the Captain would find them and they would end this nightmare once and for all. He steadfastly ignored the voice inside of him that whispered that it might already be too late.

_’And if our nightmare has been made flesh?’_ he could not help but think. _’Will I have the strength to see d’Artagnan through it? Will the lad even survive it?’_

“Whatever it is you are thinking, stop,” Treville said sharply. “Now is not the time to torture yourself with the unknown. Your brothers need you, Athos. You must be strong for them.”

“My brothers may already be lost to me,” Athos snapped, his fear driving his words.

“I know, son,” Treville replied kindly. “But, as Father Michel told me rather recently, as long as one mas still has hope then all hope is not lost. We shall not give up hope on your brothers, Athos.”

Athos could only nod, his emotions choking the words from him. He would not give up hope. Not until he saw their bodies for himself. Only then. Only when he knew for certain. Then… then he would find them again. And while he knew Aramis would be displeased with him, he thought he would understand all the same. If even one of the still lived, he would not leave them, but if they were all lost to him, what use did he have for this world then?

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

It was not long before the door at the top of the stairs opened and Bathory came back down. She was followed by two of her guards who carried a half-frozen Aramis between them. He was mumbling to himself, half-whispered words that sounded like “brothers” and “crows” interspersed with whimpers. His face was a bloody mess, the jagged cuts he had made, having bled heavily and been left untreated. The cold had helped slow the bleeding but it still looked horrible. As did the brand on his shoulder, red and inflamed though it was, it was easy to discern.

Porthos did not know if it was pain or fear that caused him to make the sounds but they tore at his heart regardless. He glanced again at the Whelp and had to look away. He felt a wave of shame wash over him at the horrible relief he had felt when Bathory had agreed to let d’Artagnan take Aramis’ place. He knew it was not right, to wish to sacrifice one brother for another, but… it was Aramis. Nothing and no one would ever come before him. 

d’Artagnan tried not to react when they drug Aramis into the room. In truth, he was starting to panic a little and did not want to any of them to know. He did not want to make this any harder on Aramis or Porthos and he did not want to give that bitch the satisfaction. Besides, he had said before he would give his very soul for his lover. Now he was getting his chance to prove it. 

“Porthos,” d’Artagnan called quietly, getting the bigger man’s attention.

“Yeah, Whelp. I’m here.”

“Tell him I love him. Tell him I loved right up until the end,” d’Artagnan whispered, his words fierce and urgent. He had to get this out now while he had the chance. “Athos, too. And you, brother.”

“d’Artagnan…”

“Don’t let me hurt any of you. Promise me that, Porthos. Please,” d’Artagnan pleaded.

“I promise,” Porthos choked out.

“I love you,” d’Artagnan told him a final time. “She’s coming.”

They both fell silent when they heard her come near their cell. What they had to say to each other had not been for her ears. Their final words of love would not be for her amusement. Porthos would honor the promises he had made the lad. He would look after the others and he would make the sure the boy did no harm while under the demon-woman’s thrall.

“Looks like you were right to want him brought in,” Bathory said as she neared their cell. “He’s practically frozen stiff. He’s starting to thaw out a bit now, though. Let’s give him a few more minutes to get his wits back. I want to make sure he understands what is about to happen.”

“You bitch,” d’Artagnan snarled, understanding now what she intended to do. “Just let me take his place and be done with it. What has he ever done to you to deserve such torment?”

“Done to me?” Bathory asked. “Why nothing. The fact that he exists is reason enough for me, boy. And I would watch how you speak to me if you do not wish to see him back out in the snow.”

“d’Artagnan?” Aramis asked, confused. He had heard what his brother said about taking his place but it did not make sense. He shook his head then, trying to clear it as he shivered violently.

“Back with us?” Bathory asked, grinning widely. “Excellent. Your dear brother and I have been chatting while you were gone. We’ve come to an… arrangement of sorts, he and I.”

“No,” Aramis said at once, her implication clear. He shook his head in horror, looking from her to d’Artagnan and back again. “No, you cannot do this.”

“Oh, but he wants to,” she said. “He was so very worried about you, out there in the cold, screaming. He wanted me to bring you back inside. He said he’d do, well, anything really so I gave him a choice.”

“Nonononono,” Aramis moaned. “Please, do not take him. Please. He does not know what he is saying. Please. I am the one you want…”

“Aramis!” d’Artagnan shouted from the cell. “Shut your fucking mouth! I don’t care what she does to me if she lets you live, damn it.”

“She will take your soul, d’Artagnan,” Aramis gasped, falling to his knees, his legs no longer able to support him. “She will turn you into her puppet. I cannot let you…”

“You can and you will,” d’Artagnan told him. “Listen to me! Porthos is here and he needs you. I will not see you parted from him. Not if I can prevent it.”

“Whelp, no,” Porthos gasped as the realization dawned of part of what was driving d’Artagnan to do this. 

“Shut up,” d’Artagnan spat angrily before focusing on Aramis again. “You will not be parted from him. I will not allow it. You will not fight me on this, do you hear me?”

“Master, do not do this,” Aramis begged from his knees as tears ran down his face. “Please…”

“Oh this is so touching I think I might cry,” Bathory cackled, clapping her hands gleefully again. She had never dreamed these Musketeers would be so delicious to watch. Such pain. Such desperation. She could live on the taste of their suffering for years.

“Get on with it,” d’Artagnan growled at her, hating the way she was drawing this out for Aramis, torturing him with it. 

“Eager to meet your fate, are you?” she asked, still smiling. She walked toward the back of the room, where deep shadows made it impossible to really see. When she came back, she was holding a black chalice that looked like it was made of stone of some sort. “It’s a shame he was a priest. If I had not found that out about him, I might have been willing to settle for you.”

d’Artagnan stared at her as her words sank in. He shook his head in denial. No, they had a deal. He was going to take Aramis’ place. He was going to get him back to Porthos. They were not going to _lose_ him. “We had a deal,” he said, not knowing what else to do.

“I lied,” she replied then turned to Aramis still kneeling on the stone floor. “Ready to take your medicine, pet? After this, you’ll be all mine again. No more pesky soul to have to worry about.”

“Yes,” Aramis croaked. “Yes, I’m ready.” He felt numb, inside and out. He knew it was over. This was it. He would drink from that awful chalice and he would be hers forever. He tried to comfort himself with the knowledge that at least it was not d’Artagnan consigning his soul to eternal damnation for his sake. 

He looked over at his lovers still bound in the cell. He could read the naked fear in Porthos’ eyes and wished he could say something to comfort him. Anything he tried to tell him now, however, would be a lie and he would not have the last words between them be untrue. He could see that d’Artagnan was afraid as well, but coupled with it was a simmering rage the likes of which Aramis had never seen before. He could only hope the others would keep him from allowing it to consume him.

Bathory walked over to him and ran her hand though his hair. She was surprised when he did not shudder at her touch this time. This was good. He was almost broken. Just a little bit more and he would truly be hers. Pulling his head back by the hair, she held the chalice to his lips. She watched him grimace as the cold, black liquid touched his closed lips, then he opened his mouth and she poured the contents inside.

“Swallow it,” she told him when she released his hair.

Aramis did as she said, swallowing the vile fluid and trying not to gag. It was thick, like honey but tasted foul. He could detect hints of iron in it and knew there had been blood mixed into it. He prayed it was not human, did not belong to one of those poor, slaughtered children, but knew it likely did. 

“Throw him in the cell,” Bathory told the guards as she moved toward the back of the room again. “Let him spend his last minutes as a man with them.”

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

Athos and Treville slowed when the trail they were on began to widen and the trees on either side of them began to thin. “We don’t need to go barreling in,” Treville advised. “We will do them no good if we get ourselves killed.”

“Agreed,” Athos said reluctantly, forcing himself once more to be tactician rather than lover. “Let’s move into the trees and try to approach from an angle. Perhaps as we get closer we can come up with a better plan.”

They moved through the woods as quickly as they could without making too much noise. Once the trees thinned out too much, they had to abandon their horses altogether and go in on foot. It was a wise decision as the forest suddenly gave way to open grounds and they had to quickly duck back to keep from being seen.

From their vantage point of the tree line, they could see four men milling about outside the estate. Treville did not recall who the owner might have been at one time, but the place had not been inhabited in quite some time. The area was rather overgrown and the estate itself in need of repair. Some rather hasty work had been done to make the grounds maneuverable but that was all. It was clear that this was to be a temporary locale only. 

“There,” Athos said suddenly, pointing toward the far wall of the crumbling estate. “On the ground, do you see?”

Treville squinted, trying to see what had caught his second’s eye. Then he saw it. One of Porthos’ bandanas lay discarded on the ground. He doubted if it had come from the man’s head. His abductor would not be so careless as to leave something so obvious lying about, but Porthos tended to carry more than one on him. He must have dropped that in the hopes of leaving a sign.

“At least we know there were here at one time,” Treville said. “And probably still are as the wagon and horses are still here. We can take the four out here easily enough but we have no idea how many are inside.”

“And we cannot afford to alert anyone to our presence,” Athos replied. “We cannot take the chance on her simply killing them or taking Aramis and fleeing.”

“She wants Aramis that badly?” Treville asked.

“She would slit the others’ throats in a heartbeat if she thought it would slow us down and give her a chance to escape with him,” Athos told him. “I do not know why she wants him so badly. Though she seemed oddly fixated on the fact that he had once been connected to the church.”

“Well, if she means to take him, she best be prepared to fight for him,” Treville said. “Come on, let’s try to slip around the back and see if we can get a better approach. I would prefer to take these four out as quietly as possible.”

“Then let us hurry,” Athos agreed.

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

Porthos and d’Artagnan both strained forward as much as their bonds would allow as Aramis was drug forward and shoved into their cell. He landed hard on his knees and pitched forward onto his hands, panting hard. He could feel a horrible sickness roiling within him, making his stomach clench painfully. He raised his head to look at Porthos and saw the tears on his face. He wished he could wipe them away but…

“Aramis, come to me,” Porthos said, motioning for him to come closer. He was just out of reach of both him and d’Artagnan and he was desperate to get him to where at least one of them could reach him. 

Aramis forced his shuddering limbs to obey, crawling on hands and knees to Porthos. The few feet he moved also put him close enough so that d’Artagnan could reach out and touch him as well, the younger man’s hand stroking along his leg. It felt like fire scorching along his skin and Aramis attributed it to his stint in the snow. When Porthos reached out to touch him as well, it felt like the branding iron all over again and Aramis could not hold back a moan of pain. 

Collapsing onto his side, he panted hard, trying to understand what was happening to him. His stomach still clenched painfully and everywhere his brothers touched burned like acid on his flesh. Was he truly so unclean now that even the touch of their hands burned him? Was he already such a monster that the touch of… of those still human was now painful to him?

He began to writhe then as agony unlike any he had ever felt lanced through his body. He threw his head back, slamming it hard onto the stone floor, causing Porthos to shout. He felt his brother’s hand come to rest beneath it, cradling it, but the touch was like razor blades slicing into his scalp, tearing at it even as he tried to offer comfort.

d’Artagnan’s touch was no better. The boy continued to stroke and rub his legs and feet, as if trying to rid them of the terrible cold. His hands felt like they were made of fire, like they were red hot coals being pressed into his flesh and he screamed as d’Artagnan touched him again.

Bathory watched with glee as her new pet moaned and writhed between his precious brothers. The drink she had given him had been laced with a very special herb that would make any touch unbearable right now. Very soon, the hallucinations would start. Then she would watch as his own mind destroyed the last of his will.

As Aramis continued to writhe between them, he felt strong hands holding him down. He looked about, startled and saw Marsac staring down at him. He eyes were filled with the same mad light they had possessed in the Captain’s office and Aramis tried to turn away. When he did, however, he was met by the face of d’Artagnan, only the boy’s face was battered and bruised, his lips broken and bloody and his eyes… his eyes were so bleak. 

“Aramis, please, no more,” he heard d’Artagnan beg. Then he heard the sound of Athos’ voice begging for his brother’s life, begging Aramis not to hurt him anymore, not to kill him…

“No,” Aramis moaned as he fought against the hands holding him down. Everything hurt. Why were they hurting him? He looked up again and saw Porthos staring down at him, laughing. Why was he laughing? Did he not know how much pain he was in? “Porthos… help me…”

“Help you? Why would I help a worthless whore like you?” he heard Porthos laugh then he was screaming again as fire surged all along his body.

“What’s wrong with him?” Porthos asked, his terrified eyes seeking d’Artagnan’s.

“I don’t know,” d’Artagnan said. “Just try to keep him from hurting himself. It’s all we can do.”

“Master,” Aramis cried weakly, gasping for breath. He could not breathe. Everything hurt and he could not breathe. Why wouldn’t they let him breathe? Did they not know they were killing him?

Upstairs, Athos and Treville dealt with the last of the outer guards. They drug them around to the side of the house so they would not immediately be spotted should someone come up or step outside. Swords drawn, they carefully made their way inside. 

They had not expected to find a guard beside a locked door at the end of a corridor. He had not been expecting them either and froze at the sight of them. It gave Treville enough time to unsheathe his dagger and throw it, planting it neatly in the man’s throat.

“Aramis is not the only one who can kill from a distance,” he said at Athos’ surprised look.

They hurried to the door and moved the man away from it, hastily shoving him into an alcove. Athos had a moment of déjà vu then a feeling of sickness washed over him as he remembered where he had seen such a door. It was the door from their nightmare. “We have to hurry,” he said.

The readied their pistols, knowing that when they opened the door, whoever was on the other side of it would hear them coming. They might have a moment or two of surprise but that was likely all. They would have to make those moments count as they had no idea how many men they might be up against and no idea what condition the men they had come for were in.

They were halfway down the stairs before the men below realized that it was not one of their own coming down. Athos and Treville fired at once, taking out two of the remaining four men. Dropping his pistol, Treville took on the other two while Athos raced toward the cell where his brothers were.

The sight of Aramis writhing on the floor and screaming in pain was not one he would ever forget. Luckily, they had not relocked the cell when they had thrown Aramis inside and Athos swung the door open and fell down beside his brothers.

“What is wrong with him?” he asked desperately.

“She forced him to drink something,” Porthos told him. “We don’t know what it was. He’s been like this ever since.”

“How long?” Athos asked.

“Thirty minutes maybe,” Porthos replied.

“My God.”

“Get the keys, Athos,” d’Artagnan told him, his voice low and deadly. He could hear Treville fighting and holding his own but he did not know if there were any more of her men about and the last thing he wanted was for her to get away. 

Knowing d’Artagnan was right, Athos cast about for the keys. He saw a large ring on one of the men he had shot and quickly dashed out of the cell to retrieve it. He spared a moment to check on the Captain but he seemed to have the situation in hand. Back in the cell, he quickly freed d’Artagnan from the horrible collar then began freeing Porthos from the manacles on his wrists and ankles.

As he worked, he noticed that Aramis seemed to be quieting somewhat. He could only hope that whatever she had given him was staring to wear off and not that his brother had simply screamed himself mute. As he finished freeing Porthos, he heard a strangled scream and then a thud and whirled around.

He looked for Treville and found him finishing off the last of his two opponents. That had obviously not been the source of the sound. Then his eyes landed on d’Artagnan and he understood. Their young Gascon was sitting atop Madame Bathory where he had obviously thrown her. The body of her dwarven servant lay a few feet away, his head twisted at an impossible angle. 

d’Artagnan was on his knees, keeping them tucked in tight to her sides, pinning her to the floor. His hands were wrapped around her throat and his muscles strained with the effort he was using to strangle the life from her. She was kicking at the ground, clawing at his hands, but d’Artagnan acted as if he did not even feel her talon-like nails as they dug into the backs of his hands. His face was a mask of fury as he put everything he had into ending this creature’s life.

Treville started to move forward, intent on stopping the boy from choking the woman to death when Porthos’ voice stopped him. “Don’t,” he called out and shook his head sharply when Treville looked at him. “Boy’s got the right. More than. You let him see to it.”

“I…” Treville began then paused. He looked at Aramis lying trembling on the ground, his face ashen and eyes impossibly wide. He took in the bloody ruin that was the man’s face and the burn on his shoulder that could only have come from a branding iron. “I shall get the bandages and supplies from the horses. Do you think he can ride or should we use the wagon?”

“No,” Aramis choked, grabbing onto Athos and trying to burrow into his arms. “Please… not the wagon. Please…”

“Shhh, easy, Aramis,” Athos soothed then turned to Treville. “We can take him on the horses.”

“Thank you,” Aramis whispered. “Athos… Athos, please, do not let them hurt me anymore. They hurt me so much. It hurt so much when they touched me. Please…”

“Who?” Athos asked, frowning. He did not know who Aramis could be talking about that was not already dead… or about to be.

Aramis did not reply but cast his eyes toward d’Artagnan and Athos stiffened. He looked at Porthos and saw him do so as well. “Easy brother,” Athos said. “I think whatever she gave him has affected his perception as well. He knows you would never intentionally hurt him.”

They stayed as they were, with Aramis cured in Athos’ protective arms until d’Artagnan finally released Bathory. He stood up and walked over to one of the dead guards and took his sword. Returning to the body, he used the man’s sword to remove her head then kicked it across the room. He let the sword clatter to the ground and just stood there, his back to them all as he tried to get himself under control once more.

“Come on, Whelp,” Porthos said as he laid a gentle hand on d’Artagnan’s shoulder. “It’s time to go. She’s dead now. He’s safe. It’s time to go home.”

d’Artagnan nodded and turned to head toward the stairs. He made it a single step before his legs gave out and he went crashing to his knees. He felt strong arms wrap tight around him as he began to sob into Porthos’ shoulder, the weight of everything finally more than he could take.

“Alright, Whelp. It’s alright,” Porthos soothed, rocking him gently as he held him. “I know. I know. I wish we could kill her again, too. I wish we could hurt her half as much as she hurt him. As she hurt _you_.”

“I don’t care about me,” d’Artagnan managed after what felt like forever. 

“Well the rest of us damn sure do,” Porthos told him. “And Aramis… Aramis is going to need you. He’s going to need you a lot. He’s… he’s messed up right now. That stuff she gave him…”

“We’ll get him through it,” d’Artagnan said, letting Porthos help him to his feet once more. 

“We will all of us get through it,” Athos said. Aramis was tucked against his side, still shaking slightly but seeming much calmer. He still appeared somewhat unsure of his brothers and, in truth, Athos could not blame him. d’Artagnan’s display was rather… worrisome. If Porthos, himself, had not told them to leave him be, he would have stopped him.

“Come,” Treville said. “Let us get Aramis’ wounds seen to then I think it is past time we got you gentlemen back home where you belong.”


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Snow_Glory for all of your help with this!!!

Part 32

Athos sat Aramis down on the ground next to his and Treville’s horses. The Captain knelt down beside them and reached out to begin tending to the bloody gashes on Aramis’ face. Aramis, however, shied from his touch, turning into Athos once more and beginning to shake again.

“It’s alright, Aramis,” Athos soothed. “It’s just the Captain. He needs to see to your face.”

“No,” Aramis whimpered and attempted to get even closer to Athos. 

“Alright,” Athos told him. “What if I did it? Would that be acceptable?”

“Yes,” Aramis said, nodding slightly. 

“That is good,” Athos said. He held his hand out to Treville and took the needle and thread. He leaned back from Aramis, needing to get a better look at his face. He tried not to blanch at the amount of damage he saw. It was hard to tell how bad the wounds were with all of the blood and Athos knew he would need to clean that away first.

“Here,” Treville said, anticipating Athos’ desire and handing him a water skin. “It would be best to take some brandy to it as well, to ward off infection, but…”

“I will leave the choice to him,” Athos said. “He has enough medical knowledge to understand the risks.”

“He is not in his right mind, Athos,” Treville advised.

“I know,” Athos told him. “But he has been caused enough pain. I will not put him through any more. Not against his wishes. Not unless it is absolutely necessary.”

“Very well,” Treville relented. He was not at all sure even he could have brought himself to cause the man more pain on top of the horrors he had likely endured. He had no idea what these men had gone through, but it had been enough to cause d’Artagnan to kill two people with his bare hands and for Porthos to condone it.

“Aramis, I need to clean your face before I can stitch it,” Athos said. “I am going to use water. I am afraid it may still sting a bit but I will be as gentle as I can.”

“I trust you,” Aramis said softly, his eyes big and wide as they stared at Athos. 

Athos felt his heart break all over again at the trust he saw shining in his brother’s eyes. Handing the needle and thread back to Treville, he poured some of the water onto a cloth and began dabbing at the blood covering Aramis’ right cheek. He was as careful as he could be, but the wounds were deep and painful and he was not surprised when Aramis hissed and moaned in pain.

A few feet away, Porthos and d’Artagnan stood and watched. Porthos kept his arms firmly locked around the boy lest he collapse again. He also found steadying d’Artagnan helped steady himself as well. He longed to join the others, to help them tend to and care for Aramis but he remembered all too well his lover asking Athos not to let them hurt him anymore. He would give Aramis whatever space he needed to feel safe. 

d’Artagnan tried his best not to shake as Porthos held him. He knew it would only worry his brother and Porthos had enough to worry about with Aramis without him adding to it. He wanted so badly to go to Aramis and hold him, to protect him and tend to him as he had not been allowed to in that fucking cell, but he could not. Aramis did not want his touch, shrank from it, in fact. And d’Artagnan would do nothing to cause his boy further pain. No matter how much it made his own heart ache.

Once the blood was cleaned away, Athos got a good look at the damage. It was not as bad as he had thought, but he saw that there were two wounds instead of just one. Still, both were straight, even slices, not the jagged tears he had first suspected. The scarring would still be noticeable, there was nothing to be done for that, but it would not be as ghastly as he had feared. 

“Aramis, it would be best if we clean the wound with spirits as well,” Athos said. “It has been left open for far too long and the risk of infection is high. The decision is yours, brother. I will not force you to endure more pain if you do not feel you can.”

“I trust you,” Aramis replied softly after a moment. “Do as you feel you should. I know you will not hurt me more than you must.”

Athos paused for a moment, surprised by Aramis’ words. He would have expected him to say something like that to d’Artagnan but not to him. Still, if it got Aramis’ wounds seen to properly, he was not going to question it. Not now. Perhaps later when they were all safely home again but for now, he had much more pressing things to worry about. “Okay, I’m going to just pour some brandy over the wound,” Athos told him, wanting him to know what to expect. “It will burn quite badly. Try not to jerk away too hard. I will be as quick as I can. Once this is done, I can stitch you up and we can be on our way home.”

“Home,” Aramis whispered, as if the thought was so utterly foreign to him that he did not know what to make of it.

“Yes, brother, home,” Athos told him. He took the brandy from Treville and gripped Aramis’ shoulder tightly with his free hand. Taking a deep breath, he quickly poured the liquid over the gaping wound, liberally coating it. He was not surprised when Aramis instinctively tried to jerk away but he held onto his shoulder, keeping him in place. 

Aramis gasped as the liquid fire burned across his face, nearly whiting out his vision. He tried to move away from it, but Athos’ strong hand held him still. He moaned at the pain but did not try to pull away again. If Athos wanted him to stay then he would stay. He trusted his brother. He would not force him to endure this without cause.

Porthos felt d’Artagnan tense in his arms. He thought for a moment he was going to have to restrain the lad but he held himself in place. Porthos could commiserate. The sight and sound of Aramis in pain right now was simply too much after everything else they had been forced to watch. It felt like one more failure on their parts to protect someone more precious to them than air.

Athos thrust the brandy back toward Treville and held Aramis by both shoulders, mindful of the brand marring his right. He almost wished d’Artagnan had not killed that vile woman so he could have a chance at her. He shoved that thought away as quickly as it came. Now was not the time. He needed to focus on getting Aramis taken care of so they could get him home. 

As soon as they were both steady, Athos began to slowly sew the gashes in Aramis’ face closed. He took his time, making the stitches as small and even as he could. He knew the scars were going to upset his lover as it was, he did not want them to be any worse simply because of him. Once he was done, Athos surveyed his work, satisfied with the job he had done. As long as neither fever nor infection set in, he should be fine. They would need to treat the brand on his shoulder as well, along with the lash marks on his back, but those could both wait until they were home. 

It was only when Aramis began to shiver that Athos realized they were kneeling on the snow-covered ground with Aramis in nothing but his smalls. He glanced around, looking for the Captain and was relieved when he saw him walking over leading a pair of horses and carrying what appeared to be Aramis’ discarded clothes. 

“Can you get him dressed?” he asked as he handed them down to Athos.

“Yes,” Athos told him, taking the clothes and setting them down. “Come on, love. Let’s get you dressed so we can leave.”

“Alright,” Aramis replied. His words came out a bit funny thanks to the tightness in his face from the stitches. He frowned at that for a moment then stopped when Athos stood and helped him to his feet. It took them a few minutes but Athos soon had him dressed and they were ready.

“Where is my…”

“You can ride with me,” Athos said, glad Treville had not brought a horse over for Aramis. He had no intention of letting his still fragile brother ride by himself right now. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Athos could not bear the thought of letting Aramis out of his arms at the moment. He had come so close to losing him. He needed the feel of him to reassure himself that it had not happened, he had not been too late.

They rode quickly. Treville and d’Artagnan led the way. Porthos and Athos, with his brother wrapped safely in both their cloaks, Athos’ arm snug around his waist, bringing up the rear. Athos did not miss the way Aramis would occasionally glance toward Porthos as they rode and he watched his brother keep a careful distance between their horses when he noticed the same thing. 

“It is alright,” Athos whispered to him. “Porthos will not hurt you. Whatever she made you drink was the cause of your pain, not your brothers. You know they would never do anything to hurt you.”

Aramis listened to Athos’ words as they rode. He knew he was telling him the truth. He trusted Athos implicitly. Even if he had not, he would still have known those words for truth. While his brothers had caused him pain in the past, had hurt him, they had never done so willfully, they had never intentionally set out to harm him in any way. He knew this as surely as he knew… that he was now and forever one of the fallen. 

They pushed the horses hard, desperate to get Aramis home, where it was safe and warm and… safe. d’Artagnan and Porthos realized not long into the ride that Treville was heading them toward the maison rather than the garrison. That was fine with them. They would all be more comfortable there and it was much more defensible. It was also a good deal more private. 

d’Artagnan did not know what the liquid was that Bathory had forced Aramis to drink. He did not know what affects it might have on the man. So far, other than the pain he had been in and the lingering fear and confusion, he did not seem to be suffering any ill effects. Just because he was not suffering any now, however, did not mean that he would not eventually. They needed to be prepared for that and they needed to be someplace where they did not have to worry about what prying eyes might see. 

He did not think the Darkness had hold of him again. If it had, he would most certainly have put up a fight when he was killing Bathory. He had not, which led d’Artagnan to believe that either dispatching her had broken whatever spell she had been attempting to weave or she had been lying about the contents of the chalice in the first place. He would not be surprised at either one.

No, he was not concerned about the Darkness. What concerned d’Artagnan the most right now was Aramis’ apparent fear of Porthos. And himself as well if he was being truthful. He did not know what they had done to make their brother fear them so. Was it simply the pain he had endured? Had he confused their attempts to soothe him as something else? d’Artagnan did not know and likely would not unless Aramis told him. He was not sure if Aramis would even be able to, and if he was, if he was prepared for the answer.

When they rode up to the house several hours later, the four of them dismounted quickly. Athos helped Aramis down, still worried for his steadiness. He seemed a bit stronger than before and he was no longer casting fearful glances in Porthos’ direction. Athos was relieved by that. He was not sure if he was still scared of d’Artagnan or not. He sincerely hoped that was not the case. It would crush the lad to have Aramis afraid of him, to have him shrink from his touch. They would work through it, though. No matter what, they would find a way to work through it. As long as they were together, that was all that mattered to Athos. 

“Get him inside,” Treville said. “I’ll see to the horses.”

d’Artagnan moved ahead, opening the door then moving aside so Athos could bring Aramis through without crowding him. Porthos brought up the rear doing the same. They were careful in their movements, keeping their hands visible and consciously not moving too quickly. 

As Athos led him toward the bedrooms, Aramis suddenly stopped, forcing Athos to stop as well. He turned back toward his brothers and looked at them. Both men had fallen back, leaving a good six feet between them and Aramis. d’Artagnan ducked his head away at his lover’s searching glance, unable to bear it at the moment.

“I am not… not entirely in my right mind at the moment,” Aramis said slowly. “I am still… muddled about… things. But I am not afraid of you. And I am so sorry if I have made you think that I am.”

“It’s okay, love,” Porthos said moving forward slowly. He watched Aramis carefully looking for any sign of fear. He was so relieved his knees felt weak when he managed to reach him without his lover shying away from him.

“Come on, Whelp,” Porthos called when d’Artagnan hung back. “He knows it’s us now.”

Very carefully, d’Artagnan closed the distance between them. He did not approach as close as Porthos, though, stopping still a bit shy of actually reaching Aramis’ side. He understood his actions back in that dungeon had bothered Athos and Treville. They had likely bothered Aramis and Porthos as well. Or they would, once the other horrors of their time there began to fade. He thought his lover had good reason to be somewhat fearful of him.

“d’Artagnan?” Aramis queried. 

“I am here,” d’Artagnan told him. “I know my behavior was…”

“Your behavior, young man, was to be expected,” Treville said coming inside and closing the door behind him. “I have no idea what you men went through in that place, but Porthos said you were within your rights to act as you had. He would not have done so lightly.”

“I am not afraid of you,” Aramis said again. He reached his hand out toward d’Artagnan and breathed a sigh of relief when his fingers were caught up by his lover’s own. 

“Come on,” Athos said gently. “We need to get you in bed. We can all talk then but you are exhausted and you have other injuries that need tending. You all do.”

“As you wish, Athos,” Aramis said, his words causing Athos to pause yet again. 

Athos shook himself out of his momentary surprise, telling himself he would deal with it later. Perhaps he could get d’Artagnan to explain it to him. He seemed to understand this sort of thing so much better than the rest of them. For now, however, he simply wanted to get Aramis tucked into bed so he could treat his back and shoulder and anything else that needed treating.

Athos decided to use one of the spare bedrooms, not sure how much they would need to tend to Aramis’ wounds and not wanting to bring that into either of their customary rooms. He had, however, forgotten about telling Constance to prepare the manacles in one of the spare rooms. She, like him, had chosen the first bedroom, thinking it most convenient. 

When Athos led Aramis into the room, the first thing his eyes fell on was Constance standing beside the bed. He started to offer her a wan smile then his eyes fell on the manacles in her hands and his legs simply gave out. 

Athos cried out in alarm as Aramis nearly crashed to the floor. He managed to catch him, but barely, and ended up going down onto his knees beside him. He had no idea what had affected his lover so badly and looked around frantically for the cause. 

“Please,” Aramis began to beg as he started to rock back and forth on his knees, his arms wrapping around his chest protectively. “Please, not again.”

All at once, Aramis was no longer in their home but in another bedroom, in another house. He remembered the feel of the ropes lashing him in place, chafing his thighs and wrists as he fought to get free. He remembered the searing pain of being struck again and again, of being unable to move, unable to protect himself in any way. He remembered the unrelenting humiliation of being treated like a dog, worse than, like a thing with no value other than how it might be used for the pleasure of another. 

“Please… I did not mean to. I will not do it again. Please, Marisol, do not do this. You had your fun. Let me go. Please…” Aramis remembered how he had begged them not to hurt him anymore. How he had cried as they had debased him in ways he had not thought himself able to be. “Please…”

d’Artagnan gasped aloud when he realized what it was that had triggered Aramis’ sudden collapse. “Get her out of here,” he said to Treville then knelt down on the other side of Aramis. 

Aramis felt someone kneel down on his other side and flinched. He tried to burrow into Athos even further but Athos would not let him, keeping him where he was. He screwed his eyes shut, not wanting to see the lash that he knew was coming. He had thought he was safe here. He had not thought she could find him here. He was supposed to be safe.

“Little One,” d’Artagnan said, his voice soft but firm as he tried to cut through Aramis’ panic. “Listen to me, Little One. They are not here. She is not here. No one is going to hurt you. Not here. Not in our home. You are safe, Little One. Do you understand me?”

“Master?” Aramis cried, his eyes flying open. His eyes shown wetly as he stared at the young man kneeling down next to him. He felt a pang of regret at the thought of his shoulder, at the thought of _her_ mark on his Master’s property.

“I’m here, Little One,” d’Artagnan told him. “So is Athos. So is Porthos. You are safe, love. No one is going to hurt you here.”

“I… Constance… why?”

“It was our contingency plan,” Athos explained. 

“Contingency plan?” Aramis repeated. “Why… Oh… In case La Oscuridad… that was good thinking.”

“We would not have given up on you,” Athos told him. “We would have kept trying until we found a way to free you.”

“And what Hell you would have put yourselves through in doing so,” Aramis mused sadly. “I am so very glad it did not come to that. Though…”

“What?” Porthos asked, slowly moving closer to join them.

“What she bade me drink… I do not know what it will do… has already done…” Aramis admitted. “She said…”

“She was a lying bitch and no longer has a head,” d’Artagnan bit out. “Any hold she had over you is broken.”

“We do not know that,” Aramis replied, looking down at his lap.

“Yes,” d’Artagnan said, taking him by the chin and lifting his head up to look at him. “We do.”

They finally got Aramis stripped down and into bed, opting to relocate to their bedroom rather than remain in there and risk Aramis having another flashback. The lash marks on his back were not particularly deep and did not require stitching. Only one would likely scar and Aramis was not overly concerned. The brand on his shoulder, however, was another matter entirely. Athos had covered it with a thick salve and bandaged it loosely, as Aramis had instructed. 

Even though Aramis had insisted he was not afraid of his brothers, it was still Athos he wanted tending him. Athos did not mind, glad to be able to see to Aramis’ needs. He did, however, wish it did not have to be at his brothers’ expense. He knew the others did not begrudge him this, but he also knew they had been through hell with Aramis and needed the reassurance that he was still there with them as well.

Treville came back into the room just as Athos was finishing dressing Aramis’ shoulder. “Are you boys alright?” he asked wearily, the stress of the last day starting to take its toll on him.

“We are fine, Sir,” Athos told him. 

“Is Constance okay?” Aramis asked from the bed. He felt horrible for falling apart like that, especially in front of her. It was one thing to do so in front of his brothers, they at least knew of his past. Constance, on the other hand, did not and Aramis had never wanted her to.

“She’s fine, son,” Treville replied. “A bit worried about you, that’s all.”

“I am so sorry…”

“Aramis, enough of that,” Treville told him. “She does not blame you. She is not upset with you. She is merely worried for you. You have been missing for the better part of a day and badly injured to boot. That is the reason for her distress. That and only that.”

“I should still apologize…”

“You can try,” Treville laughed. “But I would wait until I was a bit stronger if I were you. You may want the running start.”

“Will you be staying the night, Sir?” Athos asked before Aramis could attempt to apologize again.

“Not unless you boys need me to,” Treville said. “I think it would be best if Constance and I headed back into the city.”

“The house…” Athos began.

“She can stay with me until we get the house repaired,” Treville assured him. “Don’t worry about Constance. I’ll see that she is well taken care of. You just worry about your family.”

“Constance is our family, too,” Aramis said softly. 

“I know, son,” Treville smiled. “And so does she. I did not mean to imply that she was not. I only meant for you lot to concentrate on each other. I will look after Constance for you in the meantime.”

Once the Captain left, the other three decided it was past time for them to get some rest as well. “Would you like for me and Porthos to take one of the other rooms?” d’Artagnan asked. He did not want to push Aramis, understanding his brother might well need his space from them right now. He was, at least, allowing Athos close. That was enough.

Aramis looked up at his brothers as they waited for him to answer. He glanced at Athos, unsure what to do. He still felt so very… muddled, as if he could not think straight. He did not _want_ them to leave but he had to admit that he felt more at ease in Athos’ presence. 

Taking the lack of response as an answer, Porthos turned toward the door and d’Artagnan followed. It hurt to know Aramis did not want them near, but they understood. They would give their lover whatever it was he needed. And apparently, what he needed right now was for the pair of them to keep their distance. Maybe they should have accompanied Constance back to Paris and let Treville remain at the maison. 

“Wait!” Aramis called out just as Porthos’ hand twisted the handle on the door. “Please, I do not wish you to go.”

“Yeah, you do,” Porthos said without turning around. “It’s okay. We’ll be right down the hall. Athos’ll be here with you.”

“It is… it is so hard for me to think right now,” Aramis told them. “Everything… it is all so jumbled in my head. I do not wish you to go. I am not afraid of you. Please… do not leave me.”

A team of horses could not have drug Porthos from the room after hearing that. He dropped his hand from the door and spun around. In two quick strides he was back beside the bed and sliding to his knees. “Won’t go,” Porthos promised as he reached onto the bed and took Aramis’ hand. 

d’Artagnan closed the bedroom door and walked back over to where Aramis lay. He sat down on the floor next to Porthos, his back resting against the side of the bed. Like Porthos, if Aramis wished him here, then here he would be. He had certainly slept in much worse places than a bedroom floor before. And while his body might still be aching from the long hours he had been forced to spend on his knees on the stone floor of his prison cell, he did not care. He would, however, go and fetch something for Porthos to sleep on a bit later, once Aramis had dozed off. 

It did not take long for Aramis to fall asleep. He did not seem to realize that his brothers intended to spend their evening on the floor. Athos, however, was not so easily fooled. “I can move him over without waking him,” he told them. “You could both slide in easily enough.”

“We’re good,” Porthos replied, glancing at d’Artagnan and grinning when the younger man nodded his agreement. “You just take care of him. Me and the Whelp will be fine for the night.”

“He did not mean for you to sleep on the floor,” Athos insisted.

“Please do not wake him,” d’Artagnan whispered. “He is beyond exhausted and needs the rest. No, I am sure he did not mean for us to, but our presence still causes him some degree of distress. I would rather not have him awaken in fear because we were closer than he was comfortable with.”

“You are both too stubborn by far,” Athos whispered back. “But I shall not argue this with you now. I… I did not get a chance to tell you both… I am so very glad you are alright. I was so afraid I would not be in time. Not to save all of you.”

“You were, brother,” Porthos told him, letting go of Aramis’ hand to clasp Athos’ shoulder. 

d’Artagnan waited until Athos had dozed off as well before leveling himself up off the floor. At Porthos questioning frown he shook his head and held up a finger. As quietly as he could, he made his way out of the room then hurried down the hall to the room he normally shared with Athos. He took the blankets from the bed and grabbed the extra ones as well then made his way back to their shared room. 

Porthos smiled when he saw what the boy was carrying. “Cold?” he asked.

“No,” d’Artagnan said, grinning. He began folding the blankets on the floor until he had made a soft pallet, leaving one of them aside. “Your bed, Monsieur.”

Porthos stared at him, stunned. “Whelp…”

“Come on,” d’Artagnan said. “I know you’re sore from being chained up for so long. Get undressed and let me see your wrists and ankles.”

“You’re laying down on that with me,” Porthos told him, his voice gruff. He undressed down to his smalls, mindful of bruises and abrasions he was sporting. 

d’Artagnan had stripped down to his smalls as well, his back to Porthos. He was quite glad to be out of his leathers. His neck had been rubbed raw from the collar he had fought against and his knees were a wild kaleidoscope of colors ranging from red to purple to black. 

When d’Artagnan turned around he got his first good look at the abrasions on Porthos’ ankles and wrists. He sucked in a breath and moved to him quickly, dropping down onto the pallet beside him with barely more than a grunt of pain at the pressure on his knees.

“Porthos, your wrists,” he whispered urgently, trying to grab his brother’s hand so he could get a better look.

Porthos gaped at d’Artagnan, letting the boy take his hand for a moment before he realized what he had said. “My wrists? My bloody wrists?” he whispered fiercely. “Boy, have you seen your knees? I think one of them is so bruised it’s bleeding.”

“My knees are fine,” d’Artagnan said dismissively. “Now let me see your wrists.”

Porthos let the younger man take his hand and pull his arm forward then surged forward, knocking d’Artagnan onto his back. “Your knees are not fine,” he growled. “My damn wrists got a few scrapes on them from the shackles. They’ll keep.”

d’Artagnan looked up at Porthos, stunned by the intensity of the other man’s response. He did not care about the pain in his knees and did not understand why it would matter so much to Porthos. It was incidental. His brothers were what was important and he needed to make sure that their injuries were seen to. Aramis would never forgive him if he allowed Porthos to suffer simply because his knees had been aching a bit.

“You don’t get it, do you?” Porthos asked as he stared down at the boy. “You’re always so worried about the rest of us, always so set on tending to us, taking care of us. You deserve care, too, Whelp. Don’t you know how much you mean to us? Do you have any idea how much it would have killed us all if we had lost you?”

“Better me than him,” d’Artagnan said softly.

“I’m not going to argue that one with you,” Porthos said. “Because we both know I can’t. Not without making a liar out of myself. But that’s not something I’m proud of. To know that I would willingly offer one brother in the place of another…”

“Porthos, no,” d’Artagnan told him. “I understand. I… I would want you to. What you and Aramis have… if it were in my power, I would never see you parted.”

“Whelp…”

“It’s alright, brother,” d’Artagnan said, smiling up at him softly. “If you need to see to my injuries to ease yourself, then so be it. I understand the need to make sure your family is truly whole and safe beside you.”

“I love you, boy,” Porthos told him. “I know I don’t show it, let alone say it, but I do. You mean something to me. You’re not… not… collateral damage… not to me. Hearing you say good-bye to me in that cell, nearly broke my heart. The only thing that kept me going was the promise I made to you to look after the others.”

“I know that I mean something to you, brother,” d’Artagnan said. “I know I am not merely a… convenience. I know you love me and now you know that I love you as well. Or at least I hope you do.”

“I do, Whelp,” Porthos told him earnestly. “God, how could I not? You were doing everything you could to get her to take you instead of him and a big part of that was because you wanted to keep me and him together. You think I don’t know how much you have to love him, love us both, to do something like that?”

“There is nothing I would not do for him,” d’Artagnan told Porthos. “Therefore there is nothing I will not do for you. But Aramis aside, I love you for your own self, Porthos. I would fight for you as fiercely as I would him or Athos either one. You are no less in my eyes than them. What I was willing to do, I was willing to do for you just as much as him.”

Porthos stared down at d’Artagnan. He could see the love the boy felt for him shining in his eyes. While he still felt that part of it was due to his overwhelming love for Aramis, he knew that was not the whole of it. Unable to stop himself, Porthos leaned down and pressed his mouth to d’Artagnan’s, kissing him softly.

d’Artagnan could not hold back a startled gasp when Porthos leaned down and kissed him. It was a simple thing, the gentle press of the bigger man’s lips against his own, but it sent a surge of feeling through him that nearly swamped him. He clutched at Porthos’ arms, needing something to hold onto as he returned the kiss, mindful to only go as far as Porthos seemed to want. They were both exhausted, spent physically and emotionally. After everything they had been through, it should not have been a shock that they would turn to each other for the comfort they so badly needed.

Porthos pulled back then and moved off of the younger man. “Let me get a look at those knees,” he said as he got his emotions back under control. “I want to check on your neck, too, before we turn in. You were fighting that collar pretty hard. I want to make sure you didn’t do yourself any harm.”

“As you wish, brother,” d’Artagnan replied. He lay still and allowed Porthos to tend him as he would. He straightened his legs and tried not to grimace when Porthos prodded his tender knees. He could not help but hiss when his brother hit a particularly painful spot but Porthos immediately soothed the sting away with his gentle hands.

“Sorry, love,” he said. “Your knees are a right mess. This one’s bleeding in a couple of places. We need to keep an eye on it and make sure it heals up right.”

“I will be fine,” d’Artagnan assured him.

“Yeah, you will be,” Porthos told him. “We’ll make sure of that. Now let me look at your neck.” He helped d’Artagnan sit up and lifted his hair away from his neck. His jaw clenched at the dark bruises he saw forming around the boy’s throat. He remembered d’Artagnan lunging forward, trying to get at the woman and the collar jerking him back. The bruises were most likely from that. He would be sore and stiff come morning, but the damage would heal in a few days.

“Do I pass inspection?” d’Artagnan teased when Porthos finally let his hair fall back and pushed him back down onto their makeshift pallet.

“Yeah, brat,” Porthos grinned. He held out his wrists to the boy then and let him examine them until he was content that the damage was truly minor. Once the boy was satisfied, Porthos lay down beside him and pulled the remaining blanket over the two of them. In no time at all, they had joined their brothers in sleep.

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

Athos was not sure what woke him. He glanced at Aramis, lying safely in his arms but he was still sleeping soundly, no signs of distress marring his features. He glanced around the room and his eyes fell on his brothers, sleeping on the floor next to the bed. They had brought in blankets and made a pallet for themselves. Rather, Athos suspected that d’Artagnan had. He had not missed the fact that their Whelp seemed to have once again taken to shepherding them. Not that he could blame the lad. After everything, he was feeling rather inclined to care for his brothers himself, and he still had no idea what all had actually happened.

“You awake?” Porthos called softly from his place on the floor. He had heard Athos shift on the bed and his breathing pick up. He did not want to disturb the man if he was able to go back to sleep but if not, he would dearly like to know how Aramis was doing. 

“I am,” Athos whispered. “Were you able to rest at all?”

“Yeah,” Porthos replied, careful to keep his voice down so he would not wake their two sleeping brothers. “Whelp made us a bed in the floor.”

“I thought as much,” Athos said, grinning. “I take it he is back to cosseting us at every turn?”

“Yeah. Can’t really blame him, though. Boy’s been through hell, Athos.”

“Do you wish to talk about it?” Athos asked. He dearly wished to know what had happened to his family but he would not force any of them to relive that nightmare if they did not want to. 

“No,” Porthos said. “But I know we’re going to need to. You need to know what happened if we’re going to get Aramis through it. How is he doing anyway?”

“He spent the night peacefully enough,” Athos told him. “He grew restless a few times, but I was able to soothe him rather quickly. I think that was likely more due to exhaustion than anything else. And, Porthos, it is not just Aramis I worry for. You and d’Artagnan have suffered just as much. I would help you all in any way that I am able.”

“I know, brother,” Porthos told him. “I do know that. I do not mean to make it sound as if I don’t. I am not so worried for me. She did not hurt me overly much. It was Aramis she concentrated on… and d’Artagnan. She hurt him, Athos.”

“What do you mean?” Athos asked, cold dread settling into his stomach like a lead weight. He had seen the raging fury d’Artagnan had unleashed upon the woman. He had thought it all for Aramis’ sake. Had their nightmare come to pass after all? It did not seem possible. d’Artagnan did not bear any noticeable wounds of such, but then again, the boy would not have fought. Not if it was Aramis. Not if he thought that fighting would make it that much harder on his brother. 

“You saw how she had him chained down,” Porthos said. “She kept him that way the whole time. Hours, chained on his knees on the stone. They are so bruised I don’t know how he can even stand to walk. One of them was even bleeding last night.

“And she taunted him. She made him think that she was going to allow him to take Aramis’ place. If I ever have to listen to that boy tell me good-bye again, tell me to look after the rest of you, I do not think I could stand it.”

“Oh no,” Athos gasped, understanding now just how dire things had gotten for his brothers. They had thought they were going to die, or worse. That at least one of them was, and d’Artagnan had tried his best to ensure that he was that one. 

“Yeah,” Porthos said, scrubbing a hand over his face as he struggled to control himself once more. “His neck isn’t so bad. Some bruising from where he fought the collar. He lunged at her a few times, nearly choked himself trying to get at her.”

“My God,” Athos whispered. “And Aramis? Which one of them hurt Aramis?”

Porthos hesitated then realizing that Athos did not know. He had not seen any of the damage being inflicted and they had not spoken to him of it until now. “Aramis,” he said softly, closing his eyes against the pain of that admission.

“Yes, who hurt him?”

“Aramis,” Porthos said again. He looked at Athos and saw the confusion on his face. “Aramis hurt himself, Athos. She… she gave him a choice. She told him to choose which of his brothers he would torture. d’Artagnan told him… ordered him… to choose him, but Aramis would not. He chose himself instead… all three times.”

“No,” Athos said, shaking his head in denial at the sadistic torment she had subjected his family to. To force them to watch Aramis be hurt was bad enough, but to see him doing the damage with his own hand, to know they could take it in his stead if he would only allow it, no wonder d’Artagnan had… snapped.

“You see now why I said the boy was in his rights to kill her like he did?” Porthos said softly.

“Yes,” Athos nodded, fighting back tears. “The only thing worse would be if she had made Aramis rape him.”

“Do not even say such a thing,” Porthos shuddered.

“It was one of my worst fears, second only to finding one of you already dead,” Athos told him. “I… I wondered what I would do if it was true… if Aramis had violated him so… if I would have the strength to see him through it… if he could even survive such brutality at the hands of one he loved so dearly.”

Aramis could hear the soft hum of words pulling him from the warm cocoon of sleep. He could not really make out the words, but recognized the soft cadence of Athos’ voice. He thought he heard Porthos’ deep baritone as well. It wrapped him in a familiar layer of warmth to know his brothers were close by and safe. 

He had a moment to wonder where d’Artagnan was before some of Athos’ words began to penetrate the fog in his brain. _…worst fear… …violated him… …survive… …brutality… …hands of one he loved…_

_No. Oh, no. Please,_ Aramis thought desperately as Athos’ words cut through the haze in his mind and registered. _He had hurt d’Artagnan. He had brutalized him. And Athos did not even know if he would survive? No. No. No._

“No!” Aramis screamed, his eyes flying open. He flailed about on the bed, shoving at Athos’ arms. He began to moan then and throw his head back and forth. God would not be so cruel as this. God would not save him only to make him lose his brother, at his own hand, no less. _This could not be. It could not. If this was the reality he was to wake to, the he would simply… not._

Athos and Porthos jerked back, startled by Aramis’ sudden scream. D’Artagnan came awake as well, going to his knees and hissing at the pain that shot through him when he put pressure on them. “What happened?” he asked, his eyes fixed on Aramis as he thrashed and moaned on the bed.

“I don’t know,” Porthos said. “He was asleep and then he just screamed and started moaning.”

All at once, Aramis stilled. He had heard d’Artagnan’s pained hiss from somewhere next to him. He had done that. He had hurt his brother, his lover, his Master, in the most horrific way imaginable. The knowledge that he had raped d’Artagnan was simply too much. Unable to deal with horror of it, Aramis retreated into his mind, hiding himself away where no one and nothing could ever reach him.

Aramis’ stillness was so suddenly that d’Artagnan felt his heart try to beat its way out of his chest as, for one horrible second, he thought his brother might have simply died. He could see the steady rise and fall of his chest, though and sagged in relief. Aramis’ eyes, however, were staring up at the ceiling, unseeing. 

Mindful of his injuries, Athos gently shook the man, trying to rouse him. The way Aramis was just staring straight ahead sent a chill down his spine. He had seen such stares once before, when he had been forced to question an inmate at a madhouse. To see such a look in his brother’s eyes was terrifying. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Porthos asked, the fear in his voice quite clear.

“I think… I think his mind has… has shut down,” Athos said, his own voice trembling. “It is as if he has turned inward. His eyes are open but he does not see.”

“How do we get him back?” d’Artagnan asked him.

“I do not know,” Athos said helplessly. “I do not think we can. Not if he does not wish to come back.”

“No,” Porthos shook his head. “No, I refuse to accept this. We did not survive all of that just to… to lose him to his own mind.”

“He has been through a very great shock,” Athos said, grasping at straws as he tried to offer Porthos something to hold onto. “He may simply need time to come to grips with everything that has transpired.”

“I pray that you are right, brother,” Porthos said as he looked down at the lax face of his lover. “We cannot lose you now, Aramis. We have come so close. We are free of her, brother. You are safe now. You are safe.”

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

“How are you?” Athos asked as he sat down next to d’Artagnan. He had left Porthos beside Aramis, reading to him from one of the books of poetry that Aramis liked.

“As well as can be expected I guess,” d’Artagnan replied. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Athos asked.

“What is there to talk about?” d’Artagnan shrugged. “Our lover is… like that because I could not protect him. What more is there to say?”

“d’Artagnan,” Athos said, trying not to let his exasperation show. “It was not your fault. You did all you could. And from what Porthos tells me, a great deal more than you should have.”

“It did not save him,” d’Artagnan countered. “How can you possibly say it was enough?”

“Because your life is no less valuable than Aramis’,” Athos told him.

“Yes, it is,” d’Artagnan replied. “At least Porthos did not try to lie about it. You should perhaps do the same.”

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

“I heard Athos tried to talk to you,” Porthos said later that night as he and d’Artagnan lay down on their pallet to try to sleep.

“Yes,” d’Artagnan replied, offering no more than that.

“Don’t be too hard on him, Whelp,” Porthos said as he pulled d’Artagnan in close and held him. “He’s only trying to help.”

“I know,” d’Artagnan admitted. “But I much prefer your honesty to his platitudes.”

“Boy, Athos wouldn’t lie to you. Not about this. Not now.”

“Even when he says my life is no less valuable than Aramis’?” d’Artagnan asked.

“Even then,” Porthos told him. “Especially then. He would have kept his mouth shut if he didn’t mean it, but he wouldn’t have lied about it. You mean something to him, boy. You mean something to us all. I’m sorry if I…”

“Don’t,” d’Artagnan cut him off sharply. “Don’t you dare apologize for loving Aramis. I will not hear it. I will, however, speak with Athos tomorrow and attempt to clear the air with him.”

“None of this was your fault, Whelp. None of it. Let him help you find a way to move past it,” Porthos told him. “Aramis… Aramis is going to need you when he finally wakes up again. Alright?”

“Alright.”

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

It was two days later before Treville came back around. He had wanted to give them time to settle, to deal with the worst of what had to be appalling abuse and begin to heal. Two days, however, was as long as he could stand to wait. He needed to know how his men fared. And Constance was worrying herself sick over the lot of them. Especially Aramis.

She had been nearly distraught when Treville had taken her home that night. He still did not know what had set the man off in such a way but he knew it had nothing to do with Constance and had assured her of such. She had accepted his words, but he knew she was still very worried about all of them. For her sake, if nothing else, he needed to go and check on them.

As soon as he got there he knew that things were not going as well as he had hoped. He had had the foresight to bring along additional medical supplies as well as provisions for the four men. He knew they would be loathe to leave the maison any time in the near future and Treville did not want them to have to, not for something as mundane as that. 

When he rode up, he found Athos sitting outside on the front steps. His elbows were braced on his knees and his head hung down. He had not seen his second look so defeated in a very long time. He knew no one had died, Athos would have sent word to him if such a thing had happened, but it was clear that something nearly as ominous had occurred and Treville steeled himself for the news.

“Sir,” Athos said as he got to his feet to greet the Captain. 

“What has happened?” Treville asked without preamble. 

“Aramis… he has…”

“What man?” Treville asked again when Athos fell silent. “He isn’t…”

“No,” Athos said, shaking his head. “But he has… retreated. Into his mind, I believe. He stares at nothing. He does not speak. He does not respond to any sound or touch. He takes sustenance only when we pour liquid down his throat.”

“How long has he been like this?” Treville asked wearily. He had seen such things before, of course. Men who had simply seen too much or done too much, no longer able to deal with the horrors of it all so they retreat, losing themselves inside their own minds. Most of the time, they never managed to find their way back out again.

“It happened the next morning. He slept through the night well enough it seemed,” Athos explained. “Then he woke up screaming and then… that. We have not been able to rouse him since.”

“I see,” Treville said. “Do you think it would help for me to see him? Perhaps someone outside of all of this…”

“I do not see where it could hurt,” Athos said, though he doubted if it would actually do any good. He tried to tell himself not to think that way, to trust in his brother to come back to them, but it was hard. Aramis was no coward. To run was not in his nature. For him to do so now, like this, spoke of trauma they were ill equipped to deal with.

Treville followed Athos into the house and to their shared room. He was not surprised to find d’Artagnan and Porthos there. The younger man was lying on the floor, sleeping on a soft pallet while Porthos sat in a chair beside the bed. He was reading to Aramis when the other two walked in.

“Hello, Aramis,” Treville said as he approached the bed. He sat down on the side of it, careful to keep his movements slow and obvious, not wanting to do anything that might startle the man or frighten him. “I hear you’ve been rather quiet lately. Your brothers have missed the sound of your voice, son. Don’t you think you should talk to them a bit? Let them hear you again? I know it would help ease them.”

Athos had to close his eyes when Aramis failed to respond. He had tried not to let himself hope but it was hard not to. Still, he remembered what the Captain had told him when they had been searching for the others. As long as one man still had hope… Athos was willing to be that one man for as long as his brother needed him to be. 

“Well,” Treville said, standing reluctantly. “I promised Constance I would come by and see how you were all doing and let her know. She has been rather concerned.”

“Tell her we are well and that, when the others are more healed, we will see her,” Athos said. “Do not mention Aramis to her. It will only worry her needlessly.”

“I would not call it needlessly, son,” Treville said kindly.

“Perhaps not,” Athos agreed. “But it will not help anyone for her to worry herself ill, which we both know she will do if she finds out Aramis is… as he is.”

“I must agree with you there,” Treville said. “I will keep this knowledge to myself. For now. I brought more provisions and medical supplies. Is there anything the rest of you require before I go?”

“No,” Athos told him. “All that we need, is already here.”

“Very well. Let me know at once if… when his condition changes. And if you need anything, do not hesitate to call upon me.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

As Treville headed back toward Paris, he could not get the image of Aramis’ blank eyes out of his head. He had not wanted to mention such things yet to Athos and Porthos but he would begin to make inquiries on Aramis’ behalf. There were several good convalescent hospitals in Paris. Places that could give Aramis the care he would need, that would keep him comfortable. He knew the other three were not ready to hear such things just yet. In all honesty, he hoped they would be wholly unnecessary. But Treville had seen that blank look in men’s eyes before. He had not once seen a man come back from it.

Back in Aramis’ room, Porthos snarled and threw the book he had been reading to Aramis down on the bedside table. Like Athos, he had hoped for some sign of life from Aramis at the Captain’s prodding but the man had not so much as twitched. And the look on Treville’s face as he left had said a great many things, none of which Porthos particularly cared to hear.

“His experiences are not the sum total of what may or may not happen,” Athos told him, understanding what Porthos was upset about the most.

“You saw his face, Athos. He doesn’t think he’s going to wake up,” Porthos hissed, keeping his voice down so as not to wake d’Artagnan.

“I do not care what he thinks. I will not give up on my brother. And neither will you.”

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

Two days later found them all once more at Aramis’ bedside. Porthos was again in the chair, reading to Aramis from one of the books from the library. d’Artagnan was sitting on the floor next to the bed, cleaning Aramis’ armor for something to do with his hands more than anything else. Athos was sitting at a small table going over the maison books and seeing what papers he would need to have his family’s remaining money transferred over.

Without warning, Porthos threw the book he was reading across the room. It slammed into the wall and clattered to the floor, a few pages fluttering after it, having torn free from the binding when it impacted with the wall.

“What the fuck is the matter with you two?” he snarled as he shot to his feet, his hands clenched into fists. “How can you just sit there? Do you not even care that he’s dying right in front of us?”

“Porthos!” Athos shouted, throwing down the ledger he was working on. He crossed the room to the other man until he stood almost nose to nose with him. “We care, brother. We care every bit as much as you do. Do you not think that this is killing us inside just as much as it is you?”

“I need some air,” Porthos spat and shoved Athos aside roughly as he stormed from the room. 

“I was wondering when that was going to happen,” Athos said, running a tired hand through his hand. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” d’Artagnan said, his voice sounding smaller than Athos had ever heard it. “You should go after him. He should not be alone right now.”

“You are right, of course,” Athos agreed. “Will you be alright alone for a while?”

“I will not be alone,” d’Artagnan said, smiling sadly. “Aramis is here with me.”

Athos had to bite down hard to keep his despair at d’Artagnan’s words from showing. Oh, how he wished that were true. He had a feeling, however, that Aramis would never be here them again. “I shall try not to be too long, but Porthos may need to wear off some of his anger before we return.”

“Do not let him hurt you,” d’Artagnan cautioned.

“He will not,” Athos told him. “Even in his anger, he is still our brother. And he has lost too much already to risk damaging what little he has left.”

d’Artagnan watched as Athos went in search of Porthos, leaving him alone with Aramis. Rolling over onto his knees, he moved up beside the bed so his head was next to Aramis’ chest. He did not feel the pain in his knees as he knelt beside his brother. The pain in his heart was all-encompassing, eclipsing everything else.

“Porthos will follow you, you know,” d’Artagnan began softly. “No matter what he might have promised you before. We do not matter enough to him. Or rather he things he does not matter enough to us. He is wrong, though. I have tried to show him otherwise, but I do not think he truly believes it. And losing you both will likely put Athos in the ground as well.

“Please, Aramis. Come back to us. Whatever it is you are running from, you do not have to run any longer. You are safe here. We will protect you this time. I know… I know we… I know I failed to protect you before. I know I did and I’m sorry. Please, Little One, I will not fail you again.”

d’Artagnan felt the tears he had been holding at bay for four days finally start to fall. He did not try to stop them this time. He took Aramis’ hand in his and pressed it to his face as his fear and pain poured from him. 

Aramis was sitting in the meadow near the home he had grown up in. He had always loved it here. The wide open land was peaceful in a way that other places simply were not. He could not ever remember a single time that he had been unhappy here. Or scared. He had always been safe here. It was why he was here now. It was why he refused to leave when he felt the… things… inside of him pulling at him, trying to pull him back to where he had been. He did not want to go back. Back meant pain and fear and loss and he simply could not take any more. It was better to stay here. Where it was safe.

Aramis could feel something wet on his hand. He looked up, checking for rain, then looked down at his hand. Strange, it did not appear wet. He could feel something tugging at his consciousness again, it was familiar, like warmth and home and sunshine, yet he was unsure. He felt the wetness on his hand again and looked at it once more. This time, he could tell the wetness was due to tears. But who was crying? And why?

“Please God,” d’Artagnan prayed aloud as he held Aramis’ hand. “Bring him back to us. Please. We can’t do this without him. If you must take one of us, then I say again, take me. God, please.”

Aramis was stunned. Why was d’Artagnan of all people crying over him and praying for his return? Why would he want him to come back after what he had done to him? It did not make sense. If he had brutalized the boy as he thought he had done then he would not be crying over him, he would not be praying for him to come back to them, even for the sake of the others. And he would most certainly not be offering himself in his place.

At that thought a memory surfaced. It was of the three of them still trapped in that dungeon. d’Artagnan had offered himself then, too. Offered to trade his own life, his own soul, so that Aramis might go free. The knowledge that d’Artagnan was once again offering himself up in exchange for Aramis ripped through the last of the haze in his mind. 

He could not allow this to happen. 

He would not. 

Not again. 

Not for him.

The first thing d’Artagnan noticed was the sudden tightening of the hand in his. His eyes flew open, scanning Aramis’ face for any sign of awareness, scared to death that it had only been his imagination. When he saw the warmth in his brother’s eyes, he felt such a flood of relief that he sagged against the bed, his head coming to rest on Aramis’ chest.

He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but the only thing that came out was a sob. Once the first had escaped, he could not hold back and began to weep into Aramis’ chest as all of the fear and hopelessness that had been building for nearly a week crashed over him at once. 

d’Artagnan felt a hand come up to card weakly through his hair as he cried. He clutched at Aramis’ chest, with his free hand, keeping a tight hold of the man’s other hand. He did not want to let him go. He did not even want to raise his head and look at him again for fear of finding out that it was all a trick of his mind, that Aramis was not really back with them. 

“Mas-master,” Aramis whispered, his voice rough and dry from lack of use. 

d’Artagnan’s head shot up at the sound of Aramis’ voice and he stared at his lover. “I… I am here, Little One,” he managed after a moment. “I am here. You are safe, just like I promised.”

“I’m sorry about earlier, Whelp,” Porthos said as he walked back into the room. He was looking more at the floor than anything else so did not see the pair on the bed.

“Por-thos,” Aramis croaked causing the man to freeze mid-step. His eyes widened as he took in the sight of Aramis awake and looking back at him. He rushed to the bed and fell to his knees beside it, leaning over his lover and resting his forehead against the man’s.

“Aramis, love,” Porthos gasped, unable to find the words to express how very glad he was to have his lover back with him once more.

“Athos,” d’Artagnan called, motioning for the man to come over to him. He held his hand out and let Athos help him to his feet. His left knee was still giving him trouble, causing him to limp and kneeling on the floor, even for a short time, had not done it any good. Once he was up, he moved back and pushed Athos over where he had been so that he could greet their returned brother as well. 

“We have missed you, love,” Athos said as he knelt down next to Porthos. He took the hand that d’Artagnan had released, clasping it tightly in his own. The feel of Aramis finally returning the hold after four long days of nothing felt like the greatest of miracles.

“I am sorry to have worried you all so,” Aramis said, taking in the fear and relief on his brothers’ tired faces.

“It does not matter now,” Athos told him. “You are back with us again. That is all any of us cares about.”


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Snow_Glory for all of the help (and hand-holding) with this!!

Part 33

Aramis lay in their bed trying to take in everything his brothers had told him. Athos had explained that he had misunderstood what he had overheard, that he had not hurt d’Artagnan in so despicable a manner. Porthos and d’Artagnan had then gone on to painstakingly explain exactly what had and had not occurred in that place, letting him know for certain what had been real and what had been a result of whatever it was she had forced him to drink.

Aramis was still unsure what lasting repercussions there might be from his willingly imbibing that foul substance. But it had been better than watching his Master do it in his stead, better than seeing him broken and twisted, turned into her plaything before his very eyes. Besides, he was already marked as damned, what did it truly matter now?

It had been a relief to know he had not hurt his brother, that he had not tortured their youngest so foully. Knowing what they had gone through, though, was still quite difficult. His brothers had not held anything back from him. They had wanted to, but Athos had insisted that trying to keep secrets between them, especially in this, would do more harm than good. They had reluctantly agreed and d’Artagnan had told them of the questions Bathory had put to them as well as the answers he had given. 

When the younger man had told him of trying to make a deal with that vile woman, of trying to offer his own life, his own soul, in Aramis’ place he had felt tears sting his eyes. And when Porthos had told him what d’Artagnan had said to him, his good-byes to all of them given to his last brother, those tears had spilled over and turned to great, wracking sobs.

Once he had control of himself again, he pulled his dear Whelp into his arms and held him as tightly as he could. “I will not ask you not to do such a thing again for I know it would be futile,” Aramis said. “But you are loved, d’Artagnan, and your loss would be devastating to all of us.”

“I know I am loved,” d’Artagnan said, loud enough so that Porthos and Athos could hear his words as well. “And I know my loss would wound you all greatly. But I will die before I see you parted from his side or him from yours.”

“Love…”

“I took a vow when I accepted the title of Master from you,” d’Artagnan tried to explain. “A vow of your care. I made the mistake of turning aside from that once. I will not do so again.”

“And yet you wonder why I could make the vow I did to you,” Aramis said softly. “How I could say there was but one command of yours I would ever disobey? You would never be so petty or cruel a man as to part me from my brothers for any reason other than to save my life or theirs. I only wish they could believe in that as absolutely as I do.”

“They are not you, Little One,” d’Artagnan said. “They do not need to believe in me as you do. I would never ask such a thing of them. But you must understand that everything about you is my responsibility to one degree or another. That includes your relationships with Athos and Porthos.”

“It is as you say, Master.”

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

Aramis’ rest was fitful. He seemed to rest easiest if one of them was with him. One and only one. When they tried to fit more onto the bed, he would be fine at first, but would quickly grow agitated. Athos thought it had to do with feeling restrained. He needed them close to feel safe but he also needed his space. 

They were taking it in turns as Aramis was still exhausted from the entire ordeal, not to mention his still-healing wounds. Porthos was with him now, leaving Athos and d’Artagnan to make use of their time in as productive a manner as they could.

“I need to turn the horses out,” d’Artagnan said as he donned his doublet and gloves. “And I need to check all their hooves. I can do minor repairs if need be, but I’m not much of a farrier.”

Athos nodded, putting on his own doublet and donning his weapons as well. At d’Artagnan’s questioning look he grinned. “I need to let Treville know that Aramis is back with us,” he explained. “I can arrange for a farrier to come out if you think it necessary.”

“Let me check their hooves before you go then,” d’Artagnan said, frowning slightly.

Athos put a hand on his arm, pausing him. “I shall not be long. I just need to let Treville know so he and Constance can stop worrying.”

“You are right,” d’Artagnan nodded. “I would just prefer you did not go alone. But for that, I would have to leave Porthos here alone with Aramis and that…”

“Is out of the question,” Athos finished for him. “If it bothers you that much, I shall stay.”

“No. You need to go. Treville has done so much for us. It is cruel to leave him uninformed.” 

They went to the barn then and Athos watched as d’Artagnan checked each horse’s hooves before turning them out into the pasture. He checked Athos’ last then began saddling it for the man. “They will last the winter,” he said as he worked. “When we return to Paris we can see about having them all reshod.”

“Good,” Athos said. “One less thing to worry about for now then. d’Artagnan, there is something I would like to speak with you about, though I am unsure of how exactly.”

“What is it?” d’Artagnan asked him, suddenly worried.

“Nothing bad,” Athos rushed to assure him. “At least I do not think it is.”

“Athos, please,” d’Artagnan said.

“Come, let us sit down for a moment and talk.” Athos took him by the arm and led him over to the stool he normally sat on to work in the barn. He sat him down on it then sat down on the floor beside him. “I did not mean to worry you so. It is likely nothing. I am just… confused by something and I am hoping your insight will help enlighten me.”

“Tell me then,” d’Artagnan said, forcing himself to calm. “And I will do what I can to ease your confusion.”

“When we were leaving that place,” Athos began, “Aramis was, well, rather docile.”

“Docile?”

“In a way I have normally only seen him be with you,” Athos explained, hoping d’Artagnan would understand what he meant.

“Oh,” d’Artagnan said. He recalled then the way Aramis had meekly followed Athos, allowing him to do as he pleased, his trust in him complete. The realization of just what that meant made his heart clench painfully for a moment. “That would have been Little One. You are not used to seeing him other than when he is with me.”

“I did not think he… that is… I was not aware…”

“He must have trusted you very much in that moment,” d’Artagnan said, sparing his brother the need to try to put his thoughts into words just then. “Thank you for being there for him when I could not.”

“I have no desire to take your place, d’Artagnan,” Athos said at once, not wanting his brother to think for one moment that he would even consider doing such a thing. What he shared with Aramis was precious beyond words. He had witnessed the proof of that just recently. He would no more do harm to that bond than he would do harm to d’Artagnan himself.

“I know,” d’Artagnan told him, his smile still somewhat sad. “I am glad there was another he felt he could turn to at such a time, even if the knowledge of it is somewhat painful to bear. Do not look so stricken, brother. This is neither your doing nor your fault. He needed someone and you were there for him. For that, I will forever be grateful.”

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

As luck would have it, Athos met Treville on the trail about half way to the garrison. He had grown concerned at the continued lack of word, as had Constance. He needed to know if there had been any improvement on Aramis’ part or not. If not, he would need to start seriously looking into a place for him. 

While he had kept the news from Constance, he had informed Father Michel of Aramis’ condition. The priest had been nearly distraught and he had wondered if he had not made a mistake in telling him. He had quickly rallied, however, and had told Treville that if he could not find a suitable place for the young man that he would make a place for him at Saint-Severin. It would not be the first time he had cared for the sick and at least his brothers would know that he was being well tended.

Seeing Athos riding toward him, Treville braced himself for the worst. His second did not look distraught but then again, Athos could be drunk off his ass and still hold his own in a sword fight. Treville knew better than to take the man at face value. 

“Captain,” Athos called out as he rode up beside him. “Is everything alright?”

“I should be asking you that, man,” Treville said. “I was just coming to check on you boys. How are things?”

“Better, Sir,” Athos smiled. “I was headed to the garrison to bring word. Aramis is back with us.”

“Thank the Lord,” Treville said, breathing a sigh of relief. “Perhaps Constance will be able to sleep now.”

Athos opened his mouth to reply then snapped it shut. He had learned quite some time ago that discretion was indeed the better part of valor. He would leave any teasing about Constance and the Captain to Aramis. He could probably get away with it.

“Wise choice, son,” Treville said knowingly. “Do you think he might feel up to a visit in a day or so?”

“I am certain he would,” Athos replied. “Though, perhaps not Constance? Not yet.”

“Alright,” Treville agreed. “Any particular reason why not?”

“He has begun to heal but there is much still to do. I am unsure how… volatile he may become in the days ahead,” Athos explained. “I also believe he would feel much more comfortable in her presence after the stitches in his face are removed.”

“She won’t think anything of that,” Treville frowned.

“She will not,” Athos said. “But Aramis likely will. He has ever been the dashing rake. In time, the scars will fade and be less noticeable. At first however, they will be rather prominent. I do not think he will handle that well. It would be best if he took his anger and resentment out on us.”

“Well, you are right about his face. He is not going to take that well. I’ll explain it to her. She won’t like it but I think she’ll understand. You let me know when it is alright to bring her around to see him, even for just a short visit.”

“I will, Sir,” Athos promised. “But come yourself in a day or so. I think the distraction will do him good.”

“Alright. I’ll bring you boys some more provisions when I do. Anything you need besides the usual?” Treville asked.

“No,” Athos said. “But I may have some letters for you to deliver if you don’t mind. I need to get my family’s money transferred over to the Maison. I want them to have access to it should anything happen to me.”

“You write the letters. I’ll see that the matter gets handled.”

d’Artagnan was surprised when he heard a rider approaching the house. Athos had only been gone for a few hours. He could not have made the trip to the garrison and back in such a short time. Strapping on his sword and picking up Aramis’ pistol, he hurried outside.

“Peace, Whelp,” Athos called out as he rode up.

“What are you doing back here so soon?” 

“I met Treville on the road,” Athos explained as he dismounted. “Seems he got tired of waiting for word. He’s going to come by in a day or so for a visit. I told him not to bring Constance around until we told him.”

“Good idea,” d’Artagnan said, understanding Athos’ reluctance to have Constance visit. “I’m sure Aramis will benefit from seeing him. You head inside. I’ll get your horse turned out with the others.”

“I can see to my own mount, Whelp,” Athos chuckled.

“As can I,” d’Artagnan told him. “Now go inside. I’ll be along shortly.”

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

“I thought you were going to check on them,” Constance said when Treville arrived back at home a few short hours after leaving. 

He smiled as he dismounted, wondering not for the first time how a woman as strong and independent as this one had ever endured being married to a man like Jacques Bonacieux. She had a passion and a fire that were nearly impossible to hide and just watching her made his heart feel lighter. 

Of course, he knew there was not much use barking up that particular tree. Even if the four men she currently called family would permit an old reprobate like him to court her, she deserved someone better. Someone younger. Someone a whole hell of a lot more like Aramis. And that was a thought that did not bear thinking about. Not if he wanted to be able to maintain his respectful distance. 

“I met Athos on the road,” Treville explained before she could start berating him properly. “He was coming to give me an update. They are all doing better, especially Aramis. I am going to take Father Michel and pay them a visit in a day or so, if Michel feels up to it.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful. I can’t wait to see them,” she exclaimed.

And that was what he had been afraid of. He supposed it was a good thing he had kept his horse saddled. “Athos has suggested, and I agree, that it would be best if you refrained from visiting them for the time being.”

“What?” she practically hissed, her eyes narrowing dangerously.

“Constance,” Treville said, moving forward and taking her hands in his. “Aramis is going to have a lot to deal with. The scars on his face are going to be particularly hard on him. He may not react well at first. Athos thinks it best if you were not there to witness that.”

“Does he think I cannot handle a few coarse words?” she asked, torn between being angry and hurt.

“No,” Treville told her, refusing to let her pull away from him. “He knows you can and would. But when this is over, Aramis will have to live with all he has said and done. Athos would rather that not include any harsh words sent in your direction. He is not doing this for your sake, my dear. It is wholly for Aramis’.”

“Fine,” she said, jerking her hands from his grip only to throw herself at his chest and hold onto him. “I am just so worried for him. For all of them. I only want to see for myself that they are alright. But I will not do anything that will cause him more suffering. If you and Athos both think my presence would do more harm than good then I shall stay away.”

“Thank you, love,” Treville said before he could stop himself. He blushed when he realized what he had said and held himself still, waiting for the censure he knew was sure to come.

“You are welcome,” was all she said but she pressed her head to his chest the tiniest bit harder as she held onto him.

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

When d’Artagnan lay down with Aramis later that day, his normal feeling of contentment was marred by a slight sense of unease. He had meant what he had said to Athos earlier. He was glad Athos could be there for his Little One when he needed someone. He only wished that he had not fallen so far in Aramis’ eyes that he could not look to him for that. 

All of which led to the current problem at hand. Which was not really a problem, per se, but it still needed to be addressed. For if his Little One truly wished another as his… d’Artagnan could not even think the words. If his Little One wished another, then d’Artagnan would see that his wish was granted. He would explain to Athos those things he would need to know and make himself available should he need further guidance. And he would wrap his heart in armor so thick nothing could ever pierce it again.

“Master, what is wrong?” Aramis asked, his voice soft and low in the otherwise quiet room. He had known something was bothering the other man as soon as he had lain down with him. Normally his Master was molded to his back, his body relaxed as it pressed all along him, touching him everywhere he could manage. This time, however, while d’Artagnan lay against him, his body was tense, his muscles tight and stiff. 

“It is nothing, Aramis,” d’Artagnan replied, his voice equally quiet.

“And now I know it is indeed something,” Aramis replied. “For you rarely call me ‘Aramis’ in such times unless you are deeply troubled or wish to distance yourself from me. I am not altogether sure which of those possibilities frightens me more at the moment.”

“You have nothing to be frightened of,” d’Artagnan tried to assure him. He knew he had to talk to Aramis. He needed to let him know that he was aware of what happened and find out what it was his Little One wanted. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to forge ahead. 

“Athos took very good care of you, did he not?” d’Artagnan asked quietly.

“What?” Aramis asked, thrown by the non-sequitur. 

“After… after he and Treville came for us,” d’Artagnan elaborated. “He took very good care of you.”

“Yes,” Aramis said slowly, confused by the way the conversation was going. He turned over onto his back so he could look at his Master. “I do not recall much of that time, to be honest. It is all still mostly a blur.”

“Surely you remember turning to him, Little One,” d’Artagnan said softly, his meaning clear. 

Aramis sucked in a breath and went still. He cast his mind back furiously, trying to recall his actions after being freed. He remembered bits of pieces, of being in pain and that pain beginning to fade with Athos’ arrival. He recalled watching in horror as d’Artagnan had unleashed his fury on Elizabeth Bathory and the chill it had sent all down his spine. 

He remembered then, the feeling of finally being safe, being protected, that Athos’ presence had brought. Little One had responded to that instinctively, unable not to, after everything that had transpired. No wonder d’Artagnan was pulling away from him now. Not only had he shied away from his Master, but he had sought another right in front of him. 

“I am so sorry, Master,” Aramis said, miserable and ashamed. “I have nothing to offer for such behavior other than to say I was not in my right mind. I know that is no excuse...” 

“Aramis, stop,” d’Artagnan told him. “I have no wish to hear your apologies.” 

Aramis felt like he had been slapped. For a moment, he could not breathe again. His Master would not even hear his apology? Was he so disgusted by his lapse that… but no, he would not be here now, like this, if that were the case. 

“Aramis,” d’Artagnan chided. “Little One, stop. I did not mean it like that. I only meant that you had nothing to apologize for. That is all. I am glad that Athos could be there for you when I could not. I am not upset with you. Nor am I upset with him. I only wish…”

“Master?” Aramis asked. “Please, talk to me. I did not mean to turn to another. The care Athos showed me, the… the protectiveness… Little One could not help but respond to that. You know I would never betray you.”

“You did not betray me,” d’Artagnan told him. “And I only wish that I could have been the one to be there for you. But, in that moment, you could not trust me. I am just glad there was one among us that you could still trust.”

“I have always trusted you,” Aramis argued. “Always. It was not that I did not trust you, Master. It was that I was not actually seeing you. Had I realized it was you, nothing would have kept me from your side.”

“Aramis…”

“I am yours,” Aramis told him. “Little One is yours. Wholly and without reservation. You never need share him with another living soul if you do not wish to. He certainly has no desire to be with anyone but you.”

“Not even Athos?” d’Artagnan asked bluntly, needing to hear the answer.

“Not even Athos. He cared for me and I am grateful, but I am not for him. I would serve him, if you were to tell me to, but I will never be his.”

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

When they traded off again, Athos was a bit unsure of what might await him. He did not know if d’Artagnan would have spoken to Aramis of what they had discussed in the barn or not. On the one hand, he thought he might have, but on the other, he knew the lad would not want to unduly stress Aramis right now. Unsure, he decided to let Aramis set the tone. He knew if the man wanted to discuss anything, he would bring it up. If he did not, Athos would be quite happy to simply have him in his arms for the night.

“You seem somewhat hesitant,” Aramis remarked when Athos joined him. 

“I am fine,” Athos said.

“You would be surprised how often I seem to hear that of late,” Aramis remarked. “My Master spoke with me earlier. He made mention of my behavior when you and the Captain came for us.”

“Aramis,” Athos said then paused, unsure what to really say.

“I wish to thank you for taking such good care of me,” Aramis continued. “I know that… that Little One can be a burden at times. I did not mean for him to slip out like that. I was not altogether in control of myself.”

“I am aware,” Athos told him. “And you do not need to thank me for caring for you, for any part of you. You may consider Little One to be somewhat separate, but to me he is still a part of you and I love you in your entirety, Little One and all.”

“I thank you for that,” Aramis said. “It does mean a very great deal to me.”

“But?”

“You know me too well, brother,” Aramis smiled softly. “But. Little One trusts you implicitly, however, he is not for you. He belongs to d’Artagnan and only d’Artagnan. Please, brother, tell me you understand that.”

“I do,” Athos said at once, tightening his hold on Aramis for a moment. “And in truth, I am glad of it. What the two of you have, I do not have the words for and I will not see it come to harm. Especially from me.”

Aramis moaned softly in his sleep. He could fee an arm around his waist, holding him. Athos, his mind supplied. It was Athos. They had gone to sleep together. That was all. Just Athos. He felt himself calm again as he told himself he was safe. He was home and he was safe. His brothers were here and she was dead. He was safe.

_Aramis cried out as he was shoved to his knees on the cold, stone floor of the dungeon. Bathory stood a few feet away, the cursed black chalice held in her hand. She smiled as she sauntered over to where he knelt, defeated. He shuddered anew when she carded her fingers in his hair, flinching when she suddenly tightened her grip._

_“Are you ready to be mine forever, pet?” she asked, her voice a sickening purr in his ear._

_“Yes,” Aramis answered weakly, his eyes glued to the floor in shame._

_Bathory jerked his head back roughly and brought the heavy chalice to his lips. She tipped it back, forcing him to drink deeply. Instead of a thick, black liquid filling his mouth, this time his mouth was filled with rich, red blood._

_Holding his head back, she forced him to swallow the blood as she continued to pour the contents of the chalice down his throat. Aramis choked on it, trying to fight but she held him in place easily. Only when the thing was empty, did she finally release him, stepping back and grinning wickedly._

_“What… what did you… what was that?” Aramis gasped out as he panted on his hands and knees, his stomach roiling dangerously._

_“You were so concerned about being parted from your Master,” she said, barely able to hold back her glee. “I thought I might let you keep a part of him.”_

_Aramis stared at her in dawning horror, shaking his head. He cast his eyes toward the cell holding his brothers and felt his world end. There, strung up and hanging by his outstretched arms was d’Artagnan. His wrists had been slit all the way to his elbows and the blood drained from him into bowls placed beneath him._

_“I thought you might appreciate the rather Christ-like imagery,” Bathory commented as Aramis started to scream._

Athos came awake with a start as Aramis began to thrash and cry out in his sleep. He shook him awake quickly, remembering what had happened the last time Aramis had awoken screaming. Athos did not know if they could take it if their brother slipped away on them again.

“Aramis, wake up!” Athos shouted when he failed to awaken right away. 

Aramis sat bolt upright in bed, panting hard as Porthos and d’Artagnan burst through the bedroom door. They had heard Aramis scream and then Athos shout and had rushed to the room. Both men hurried over to the bed, dropping down next to it, careful not to crowd Aramis but needing to be near.

“Oh God,” Aramis moaned as he covered his face with his hands.

“What happened?” Porthos asked as he began to stroke his lover’s leg soothingly.

“Nightmare I think,” Athos replied. 

“Aramis, can you tell us what is wrong?” d’Artagnan asked, trying to draw his lover back to the here and now with them.

Aramis looked up at him for a moment then reached over and jerked him to him. He held d’Artagnan to his chest and kissed his head over and over again. He breathed in deeply, taking in the younger man’s scent, letting it fill his senses and banish the horrible dream.

“It’s alright,” d’Artagnan said from where he was pressed to Aramis’ chest. “I’m alright. Whatever it was, it is over now. I am here and fine and so are you.”

It took some time but eventually Aramis was able to release d’Artagnan. He still kept hold of his hand, though, refusing to release him completely. Athos and Porthos had stayed close, simply waiting for Aramis to be able to tell them exactly what had happened. 

“Can you tell us what it was now?” Athos asked once Aramis had seemed calm once more.

“It was a nightmare,” Aramis began. “I was back in the dungeon. She was pouring the contents of that chalice down my throat. Only this time… this time it was filled with blood. d’Ar-d’Artagnan’s blood. She had strung him up in the cell and… and bled him dry and she had poured his blood down my throat.”

“Oh love,” d’Artagnan said. He climbed up onto the bed then and pulled Aramis’ head down onto his shoulder. “It did not happen. I am here and alive and safe. We all are. There is no more need to fear.”

“I am sorry,” Aramis said. “I must seem so…”

“If the word pathetic comes out of your mouth, I’ll…” Porthos cut in sharply.

“You’ll what?” Aramis challenged, a hint of a smile in his voice this time.

“I’ll have your Master put you over his knee,” Porthos grinned.

“Oh, well, in that case,” Aramis said, chuckling softly.

“Think you can go back to sleep?” d’Artagnan asked him. 

“Can you stay?” Aramis asked, unwilling to have the other man away from him just yet.

“Of course,” d’Artagnan said. “Are you sure you won’t feel too hemmed in?”

“I can go,” Athos offered, understanding that d’Artagnan was the one that Aramis needed right now.

“Are you sure, brother?” d’Artagnan asked.

“Just worry about him,” Athos told him. 

“Yeah, Whelp,” Porthos agreed as he stood and helped Athos maneuver out of the bed. “I’ll make sure Athos is taken care of for the night. You just see to Aramis.”

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

Aramis was sitting in the library, enjoying finally being up and about. The others were still sticking rather close to him, not leaving him alone for more than a few short minutes at a time. He did not really mind. Having them near both made him feel safe and ensured him that his brothers were safe as well. 

He still struggled somewhat with feeling hemmed in, but it was improving. He was getting better with having all of them close at once, something he knew his brothers were quite relieved about. While they had not minded looking after him in shifts, as it were, it had been hardest on those unable to be near him when they had felt an urge to. 

He still could not sleep with all of them in the bed with him, but he could at least have them in the same room. He was not pleased about the idea of two of his brothers sleeping on the floor, but they had made it quite clear that they would much prefer that to being rooms away. Aramis could well understand the sentiment. If it were one of them, he would gladly sleep on the floor if it meant he could be closer to them.

At the moment, Athos was keeping him company. He was once again going over the maison books and Aramis was starting to wonder if there might be some problem that he was not sharing with the others. 

“If there is something we should know about, you may as well tell us,” Aramis said, deciding to broach the subject now, while they were alone. 

“What do you mean?” Athos asked, looking up from the ledger he had been going over.

“You have been going over those books for days now,” Aramis said. “I may have been a bit out of it but I do recall that much. Is there something we should know about in regards to our finances? If so, tell us. Do not think you must bear this alone simply because you have the most experience with it.”

“It is nothing like that,” Athos told him. “I was merely trying to plan ahead. My family has some little bit of money left. There are a few repairs that need to be made here. I was trying to calculate how much would be left once those were completed to see where we stood. There is nothing to worry about, I merely prefer to keep a close eye on such things.”

“Alright,” Aramis said. “But if something does come up, promise me you will tell us. I know what a burden this is for you. Let us shoulder what we can of it.”

“I will,” Athos promised.

It was close to mid-day when they heard the sound of horses approaching. d’Artagnan and Porthos headed outside to greet whoever had come to call, leaving Athos inside with Aramis. Athos had told them that Treville was planning on paying them a visit but he had said he would not be bringing Constance. The fact that they could definitely hear the sound of more than one horse approaching left them wondering if it was the Captain come to call or not.

Porthos relaxed when he saw the Captain ride into view, smiling widely when he saw who was with him. “Father Michel,” he told d’Artagnan, remembering that the Whelp had not gone with them to the church so did not know what the priest looked like. “Aramis should be happy to see him at least.”

They waited for the two men to ride up and dismount. Both of them frowned when Treville had to help the priest from his horse. “What happened?” Porthos asked, causing Treville to stop and stare at him.

“Did Athos not tell you?” Treville asked.

“Tell us what?” Porthos returned.

“Michel was stabbed by that Bathory woman’s manservant,” Treville explained. “Athos and I found him in a pool of blood in his church. He nearly died. If he had not regained consciousness and told us that she had taken Aramis we would have had no idea where to even start looking.”

“Wait,” d’Artagnan said suddenly. “Aramis was there when you were stabbed?”

“Yes,” Michel said. “He traded himself for my safe release. She did not honor her bargain.”

“My God,” d’Artagnan gasped and turned horrified eyes to Porthos. “Has Athos even told Aramis that he still lives?”

“I… I don’t think so,” Porthos shook his head. “We didn’t even know he had been hurt.”

“Take them inside,” d’Artagnan told Porthos. “I’ll get their horses seen to and join you.”

“Right,” Porthos said. “Come on, Father. I think Aramis is going to be very happy to see you.”

“I did not realize…” Treville began as they walked inside the house.

“Peace, old friend,” Michel said. “There were much more pressing matters to be concerned with at the time. We shall make it right now, though.”

Porthos led them to the small library. He entered the room slowly, using his bulk to block the view behind him. “Aramis, you’ve got some visitors,” he said, causing Aramis and Athos both to look up. Athos frowned at the mention of more than one person. He had been expecting Treville, but not anyone else.

“Hello, Aramis,” Father Michel said as Porthos stepped to the side and allowed the priest into the room.

Aramis thought for a moment he was hallucinating again. He tried to swallow but his mouth was suddenly too dry. He felt tears sting his eyes and his hands fluttered on the book of prayers he had been reading. “Michel?” he called softly, not daring to believe.

“Yes, son,” Michel said as he moved over to him. He sat down on the small sofa beside him, gently pulling the book from Aramis’ hands and setting it aside. “I believe in all of the confusion, your friends forgot to mention a thing or two to you.”

“You are alive?” Aramis asked, though the answer was quite obvious. 

Michel took his hands and held them. “I am alive, son,” he told him. “I would have come sooner, but I had some healing of my own to do, as did you. I did not realize you thought me dead. I am so sorry.”

“Do not apologize,” Aramis nearly wailed then clamped his mouth shut.

“It is alright, Aramis,” Michel told him. “This is a shock, I know. It is alright to be surprised. Upset. Angry even. Let it out, son. You will feel all the better for it, I promise.”

Aramis looked at him, at the kind eyes that reflected nothing but forgiveness. He looked down at their hands, Michel’s older and time-worn covering his own. When he looked up at him again, the understanding he saw there was more than he could take and he shuddered once as a great, wracking sob tore its way out of him.

Michel nodded and wrapped his arms around the younger man, pulling him to him and holding him. He rubbed his back and whispered soothing words to him as he let Aramis pour out all of his fear and grief. If he had known this poor boy still thought him dead, still thought himself the _cause_ of his death, he would have come here much sooner, injury be damned. Done was done, however. All they could do now was try to move on and heal.

“Come on, you two,” Treville said to Athos and Porthos. “Let’s give them a bit of privacy.”

Porthos led them back out into the sitting room where d’Artagnan was waiting. “How is he?” d’Artagnan asked at once when they appeared.

“Crying his eyes out,” Porthos replied. He saw d’Artagnan start to head toward the door and moved to intercept him. “It’s alright. Father Michel will look after him. It’s… he thought he was dead, Whelp. He’s just relieved he’s not. That’s all.”

“Porthos is right, I believe,” Treville said. “I am sorry. I did not realize he thought Michel dead.”

“Neither did I,” Athos added. “Though I should have. With the amount of blood that was there and the placement of the wound, it was a miracle he survived at all.”

“It’s not your fault, brother,” Porthos told him. “The priest was right about that much. You had a lot more important things to worry about at the time. And Aramis never mentioned anything about him. If he had, I’m sure you would have said something.”

“Yes,” Athos agreed. “I still feel horrible for not telling him. I had no idea he… and the guilt he must have been carrying with him all this time…”

“At least with the priest alive and doing well, he won’t have to carry that any longer,” Porthos told him. 

It took some time for before Aramis calmed enough to even try to speak. Michel did not release him until he was steady again, willing to hold the young man for as long as he had need of him. He tried very hard not to look at Aramis’ face, at the damage done to it. The dark stitches stood out starkly against his somewhat sallow skin. He could already tell that the freshly healing scars would be quite stark as well. Not for the first time, Michel found himself wondering just how much more one man was expected to take before he simply could not take any more. 

“Forgive me,” Aramis said sitting up beside Michel.

“Absolutely not,” Michel told him. “You have done nothing that requires forgiveness, therefore I see no reason why I must offer it.”

“I very nearly got you killed,” Aramis said.

“Hardly,” Michel replied. “Doing God’s will very nearly got me killed and I would not have it any other way. He put me in your path for a reason, Aramis. Just as He put you in mine. We are but His vessels. We trusted in Him and He delivered us from this evil. Granted, your brothers would probably argue that they were the ones who delivered us, but we know better, do we not?”

“God put them on the path as well,” Aramis said, nodding. “They do not believe as such. Well, d’Artagnan might, he believes a bit more strongly than Athos and Porthos do.”

“Oh, that is good,” Michel said. “It is always good when one’s family can understand one’s faith.”

“Yes,” Aramis said. “He even prayed for me. He… he asked God to let him take my place. I do not deserve such devotion.”

“On the contrary,” Michel said. “I think you entirely deserving of such devotion. Is he the one who feared you leaving for the church?”

“No,” Aramis could not help but chuckle. “That was Athos.”

“Ah. Good, then. Now, tell me why you would think yourself unworthy of such devotion,” Michel said. He could tell that Aramis was troubled and by more than just thinking him dead. 

“I… May I make confession, Father?” Aramis asked suddenly.

“Of course, my son,” Michel said. When Aramis started to move off the sofa to kneel, Michel stopped him. “Here is fine. We are both still healing. I do not think God will begrudge us a bit of comfort all things considered.”

“Yes, Father,” Aramis said. He took a deep breath and began the familiar litany of confession, laying out his sins for Michel to absolve. “I am… unclean. She has placed her mark upon me and while she may be dead, her mark remains. It… it stains my very soul, Father. It marks me as hers… as fallen. That is why I say I am undeserving of such utter devotion. How can an unclean thing deserve such purity?”

“Aramis, oh child,” Michel said as he reached out and stroked the unmarred side of Aramis’ face. “You are not unclean. Yes, she has put her mark upon you. Yes, that mark remains and will remain. There is naught to be done for that. You must accept it as God’s will. But it does not make you unclean. It does not mark you as fallen.”

They spent the next few hours ensconced in the library, continuing their discussion. Michel did his best to convince Aramis that he was not marked as one of the fallen, that he was not unclean simply because he bore the scars of that woman’s abuse. He thought he might have made a bit of headway, but he knew the battle was far from won. 

Any other wound, Aramis would have been able to deal with. Even the ghastly wounds to his face meant little in comparison to what he saw as a wound to his very soul. Michel could understand it. That woman had been wickedness incarnate, a thing of blackness and spite that had tried to corrupt him, turning him into an agent of evil. Aramis had fought her, but the price had been high. He was, even now, still paying that price.

By the time Treville and Father Michel bid them good-bye, Aramis was exhausted. He and Michel had spent hours talking about what all Bathory had done to him and to his brothers. He was emotionally spent and more than ready to turn in for the night.

“At least eat something first,” d’Artagnan had insisted. Aramis had lost weight he could ill afford to lose during those first days and d’Artagnan did not want to see him lose any more. He managed to get most of a bowl of stew into him before Aramis pushed away from the table, claiming he simply could not eat any more.

“It’ll be good enough for tonight,” Porthos said to d’Artagnan. “We’ll get a good breakfast in him in the morning.”

“Alright,” d’Artagnan agreed. He watched Porthos get up to follow Aramis into their room then made a decision. “Porthos, would you mind seeing to him tonight?”

“No,” Porthos said, looking at d’Artagnan curiously. “You got something you need to do?”

“I would like to spend some time with Athos, if he is amenable, that is,” d’Artagnan said.

“I am,” Athos told him.

“You two take what time you need,” Porthos told him. “Me and Aramis will be just fine. You’ll be right down the hall if we need you anyway.”

“That we will,” Athos told him.

“Thanks,” d’Artagnan said. 

“Don’t thank me for this,” Porthos told him. “We need time for ourselves and each other just as much as Aramis. We can’t take care of him if we don’t take care of us as well.”

d’Artagnan waited until Porthos had left to join Aramis before gathering up their dishes. He cleaned up the kitchen, aware of Athos watching him from the table. Once he was done, he joined him once more. “Would you join me in our room tonight?” d’Artagnan asked him.

“I would be happy to,” Athos told him. “But…”

“But?” 

“I am unsure where this is going is all.”

“Only where you wish it to,” d’Artagnan assured him. He held his hand out and pulled Athos up when he took it. He stepped close for a moment and pressed a brief kiss to his lips then stepped back again and began leading him toward their room, never relinquishing his grip on the other man’s hand.

Once they were inside their room, d’Artagnan closed the door most of the way, leaving it open a crack so that they might hear if Aramis or Porthos were to call out to them in the night. d’Artagnan would have preferred to close it completely to afford Athos his privacy but could not bear the thought of not being able to hear should their brothers have need of them.

“It is alright,” Athos told him, stepping up behind him and wrapping his arms around his waist. “I could not stand the thought of the door being closed between us either.”

“We will just need to be quiet then,” d’Artagnan said, hoping he was not overstepping himself. 

“d’Artagnan, am I reading this right? Do you wish us to lie together?” Athos asked, unable to believe that the younger man could want such a thing.

“You sound almost shocked,” d’Artagnan commented. “Is the thought truly so unbelievable to you?”

“In truth, yes,” Athos replied. “I had not thought myself quite that forgiven yet.”

“And now I must ask forgiveness,” d’Artagnan said. “For I should never have made you think my forgiveness was something you had to earn.”

“You were right to,” Athos told him. “I…”

“No,” d’Artagnan cut in, refusing to hear Athos say such a thing. “You made a mistake. As we are all wont to do. It has happened before. It will happen again. I had no right to make you work for absolution as if I were somehow better than you.”

“d’Artagnan, that is not what you did.”

“Is it not?” d’Artagnan challenged. 

“No,” Athos said firmly. “And more importantly, I do not care if it was.”

d’Artagnan shook his head and turned in Athos’ arms so he was facing him. “When Little One needed someone, you were there for him. He trusted you enough to allow you to see him, Athos. As far as I know, he has never allowed anyone to see him before me. That he would do that, that he would trust you so completely when he was at his most vulnerable, told me everything I needed to know.”

“And what is that?”

“That I am so very grateful to you for taking care of him when I could not,” d’Artagnan replied. “That I love you and I trust you, not just with my own heart but with one I hold even more dear. And that I am so very sorry for ever making you doubt either of those things.”

Athos tangled his hand in d’Artagnan’s hair and kissed him. He felt d’Artagnan’s mouth open under his and moaned into it. He felt weak and giddy at once. It had been so long since they had last been together, so long since things had been this right between them. He almost did not know where to put his hands, where to touch d’Artagnan first. It was like their first time all over again and Athos found himself shaking slightly with the enormity of it.

“Shhh, Athos, it’s alright,” d’Artagnan soothed as he let his own arms slip around the man’s waist. “I’m here, brother. I’m here.”

“I want you,” Athos said, desire surging within him at the feel of d’Artagnan’s body against his own. The taste of the younger man’s lips was like wine to him and he felt drunk on them as he kissed him deeply once more. He could feel d’Artagnan’s hardness pressing against his hip and it made Athos want to throw him down on the bed and devour him.

d’Artagnan kissed him back hotly, stroking his tongue along Athos’ own. He pulled back after a moment, moaning aloud when Athos bit down on the side of his neck. “You can have me,” d’Artagnan told him. “Any… any way you want me, brother.”

“Please,” Athos groaned into his neck. He pulled d’Artagnan against him, letting him feel Athos’ own hardness. He was surprised by how completely overwhelmed he felt. He knew it was more than just how long it had been since he and d’Artagnan had been together like this. He knew himself well enough to know that there was more fueling his sudden need. d’Artagnan may have forgiven him, may have said there was nothing to seek forgiveness for, but Athos felt differently. And he needed to make things right between them.

“What is it?” d’Artagnan asked, sensing the underlying desperation that seemed to be driving Athos. He did not understand the cause of it, but he could feel it in the minute tremble that ran through his lover, could taste it in his kisses, and sought to ease it. “Tell me what you need.”

“Can I suck you?” Athos asked suddenly. He remembered their first time together, how he had asked d’Artagnan that very same question, wanting to please his young lover.

d’Artagnan pulled back from him for a moment and searched his face. The aching need he saw there convinced him and he nodded his consent. If this was what Athos needed then he would give it to him. 

Athos kissed him again then slid to his knees in front of him. He was encouraged by the indrawn breath he heard above him as he set about undoing his lover’s breeches. Once he had them open he shoved both the breeches and small clothes down d’Artagnan’s slim hips, baring his rapidly filling erection.

Gripping him by the base, Athos took the head of d’Artagnan’s cock into his mouth and began to suck. He ran his tongue around it, caressing it with his lips then slowly inching down the hard shaft. He felt d’Artagnan’s hands slide into his hair and moaned around the flesh in his mouth. He began to move his head up and down then, taking more and more of him in, until his lips met his hand where he was holding him. 

d’Artagnan carded his fingers through Athos’ hair and tried not to thrust as his lover sucked his cock. He had not felt this in so long with Athos and it was hard to hold himself in check. He knew, though, that this was one thing Athos did not appreciate a rough hand in so kept a firm hold of his self-control.

After a few moments, Athos pulled back and let d’Artagnan’s cock slide from his mouth. He looked up at his lover and saw the lust burning in his eyes and knew then what it was he wanted. “Fuck my mouth,” he told him.

“What?” d’Artagnan asked, stunned. 

“Fuck my mouth,” Athos repeated then took the head of d’Artagnan’s cock back into his mouth and simply waited.

d’Artagnan stared down at him unable to believe what Athos had said. This was not something his lover professed to enjoy, yet Athos was specifically asking him to do so. Thinking perhaps his lovers just wanted to try it, he began to thrust. 

He kept his movements slow and shallow, careful not to come anywhere close to choking the man. It was maddeningly frustrating, providing just enough stimulation to keep his arousal simmering but not enough to come close to providing release.

After a few minutes Athos pulled back once more. “Stop holding back,” he told him. “I can take it.”

“You do not like such things,” d’Artagnan said frowning. Athos had made that rather clear early on. He did not understand why he would be asking for such now. Unless… Athos had never been one to forgive himself easily. One had only to recall his long and tumultuous history with Milady to see that. Perhaps his brother required a different sort of absolution from him. Still, d’Artagnan was not entirely sure he could offer such, not knowing it was something Athos found unpleasant.

“Sir… please…” Athos begged softly from his knees, his eyes downcast as the familiar feeling of shame welled up in him. Apparently his lover did not require the assistance of their brothers to achieve that particular result.

“Is this what you need? Me to make use of you?” d’Artagnan asked as he let his hand tighten in Athos’ hair and force his head back so the man had no choice but to look at him.

“Yes, Sir,” Athos said, humiliation roiling inside of him at the admission.

“I will not be gentle with you,” d’Artagnan warned him, giving him one last out. 

“Yes, Sir,” Athos replied, a sense of relief washing over him that d’Artagnan not only understood what he needed but was willing to grant him it.

“If you truly need me to stop, tap me twice on the leg,” d’Artagnan told him. “But if you stop me, we stop. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Then open your mouth, slut. I want to spend and you have kept me waiting long enough.”

Athos groaned and opened his mouth. He closed his eyes at first when d’Artagnan began to push inside, relishing the feel of being taken. This time, his lover did not hesitate, he did not pause to give him time to adjust, he simply sank his cock in until the head hit the back of Athos’ throat and he had to fight not to gag.

d’Artagnan held himself there for a moment, enjoying the feel of being completely engulfed by Athos’ hot, wet mouth, then he pulled back and thrust forward hard. He paused for a second, making sure Athos was not going to gag too badly then he did as he lover had bid him and began to fuck his mouth in earnest.

He kept the pace hard and fast, using his lover roughly. He felt Athos gag when he shoved in particularly hard and tried to keep those times to a minimum, though he did not hold back altogether. If his lover wanted to be used in such a manner, then d’Artagnan would see that he was. 

Looking down, the sight of Athos on his knees, head held back tightly by his fist in his hair, his cock stretching his lips obscenely, made d’Artagnan’s bollocks tighten. He knew he would not last much longer. He could not, not with Athos allowing him to use him like this… not with the combination of shame and bliss that d’Artagnan could read in his eyes as he watched him struggling to take him.

All at once, d’Artagnan tightened his grip on Athos’ hair and pulled himself from his mouth. “Keep your mouth open, slut,” he growled as he began to fist himself over Athos’ face with his free hand. It did not take much, only a few pulls of his hand as he looked down at Athos’ upturned face and he was lost to it. 

d’Artagnan cried out as he began to spend, his seed covering Athos’ face in long stripes. He heard him moan when some of it fell across his lips and into his open mouth. He shoved his cock back inside Athos’ mouth then, forcing him to swallow the last of his release. When he was finally spent, he kept his cock in Athos’ mouth a few moments longer, making it clear who was in charge and that their encounter would not end until he decided.

Only when his cock started to soften did he let it slide from between Athos’ lips. He kept his hand tightened in his hair, forcing his head back. “You look good covered in my spend,” he told him. “Should I have you go and wake Porthos like this? See if he’d like you to take over with Aramis now?”

“Oh God,” Athos gasped, his face flushing hotly at the idea of going to the other two men with d’Artagnan’s spend striping his face. He would, of course, if his lover demanded it of him, but just the idea of it was nearly more than he could take. He was not sure what the reality of it might do to him.

“That turns you on, doesn’t it?” d’Artagnan continued relentlessly. “It excites you to think of being sent to them like this, covered in spend like a common whore. Answer me!”

“Yes, Sir,” Athos said, licking his lips and nearly moaning again as he licked away more of d’Artagnan’s seed.

“The only reason I am not is because I am not sure they would be up to such a thing tonight,” d’Artagnan told him. “Though perhaps the next time Treville comes for a visit…”

Athos stared up at his lover as he let the threat hang. He knew this was merely a mind game on his young lover’s part but still, the thought of being paraded out before another… another who was most definitely _not_ one of his brothers, was humiliating on a level Athos was not sure he was quite ready to experience. Knowing d’Artagnan would be quite cross with him for letting him push him too far, he tapped twice on his leg.

d’Artagnan cocked his head to the side when he felt Athos tap out. He was surprised. He knew his lover understood he was not actually serious with his last threat. Still, there was obviously something about it that had pushed too far. Pleased that Athos trusted him that much, d’Artagnan smiled down at him and relaxed his grip.

“Good boy,” he said as he knelt down next to Athos on the floor. “Never be afraid to tell me if I start to go too far.”

“Yes, Sir,” Athos said.

“Now, let’s get your pretty face all cleaned up then we can see about taking care of what’s trying to break out of your breeches.”

Athos groaned at d’Artagnan’s words then sucked in a breath when the younger man used his fingers to wipe some of the spend from his face. He opened his mouth to ask d’Artagnan his intent, then those long fingers were pushing inside, forcing his seed into Athos’ mouth.

After a moment’s pause, Athos began to lick and suck his lover’s fingers, cleaning them thoroughly. They repeated this over and over until all of d’Artagnan’s spend had been cleaned from Athos’ face. Only then did d’Artagnan reach down and begin to undo the bindings of Athos’ own breeches, a task made all the more difficult by the erection straining against them.

d’Artagnan chuckled as Athos hissed and arched up into his hand when he finally freed him. “Is my slut in need of release?” d’Artagnan teased as he began to stroke him.

“Yes… yes, Sir,” Athos gasped as he tried to arch up into his lover’s hand again. 

“How badly do you want it?” d’Artagnan pressed. “How badly do you wish to spend?”

“Please, Sir,” Athos begged, feeling humiliation rise in him again as he begged his lover for release. He had never been one to beg and to do so now, like this, for his pleasure of all things, sent such a jolt of shame through him that Athos cried out and finally began to spend.

“Good boy,” d’Artagnan said again as he stroked his lover through his release. He slid his other arm around Athos, supporting him as he trembled and gasped through his pleasure. When it was over, d’Artagnan quickly grabbed a cloth from the nightstand and cleaned them both then stood and helped Athos to his feet.

“Thank you,” Athos said as he pulled d’Artagnan into his arms and buried his head in the side of his neck.

“I love you, Athos,” d’Artagnan told him as he held him. “Did that help? Do you feel better now?”

“Yes,” Athos admitted. “I had not realized…”

“I understand,” d’Artagnan told him. He had a feeling he understood just what it was Athos had needed and he hoped he had been able to provide it. “Do you wish to remain here or would you rather we rejoin Porthos and Aramis?”

“You would not mind?” Athos asked hesitantly.

“No,” d’Artagnan told him. “In truth, I do not much like having either of them out of my sight for long either. We have had our time together. We will have more and longer as his healing progresses. If you feel up to returning to them than we shall. If you need more time for us, though, I am here for you.”

“And what of your own needs?” Athos asked, pulling back slightly so he could look at d’Artagnan.

“All that I need, I have,” d’Artagnan told him. “My brothers safe and healing, proof that my lovers are not lost to me, and the knowledge that this nightmare is finally ending for us all. What more could I ask for than that?"


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Snow_Glory for all of her help with this. This part was not easy.

Part 34

Aramis was not sleeping. He, thankfully, did not recall his dreams the next morning but it was obvious his sleep was troubled. Whichever of his brothers had the misfortune of spending the night with him ended up getting very little sleep as well. Aramis had suggested that they simply leave him to sleep on his own but they had ignored him, as they did about most things these days.

He thought perhaps a walk might help. He had been spending all of his time indoors, cooped up either in the library or their shared bedroom. He was growing somewhat restless. Getting up, he set his book aside and went to get his boots and doublet. 

He had just finished pulling on his gloves when Porthos came up beside him and began quickly pulling on his own coat. “What are you doing?” Aramis asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer.

“Thought I’d go with you,” Porthos replied. 

Aramis bit back the retort that was on the tip of his tongue. He was not angry with Porthos, not truly. He understood that his lover was only worried for him. Besides, he had a feeling that trailing after him like some overprotective bear with a cub, was not his idea, but rather his dear Master’s.

The walk around the manor grounds proved short-lived. Aramis found that the fresh air and sunshine were not nearly as refreshing as he had hoped. He thought perhaps it was due to the fact that he still felt somewhat stifled, though he managed to hold his tongue around Porthos.

As it was, he was still a bit angry at all three of them for their refusal to allow him to see Constance. He thought it grossly unfair that they were ignoring his wishes in the matter. He did not know what the big deal was. He only wanted to see her, to apologize for his behavior when he had arrived at the maison and to thank her for trying to help. He did not know why they were insisting that he could not see her. Did they truly think him so damaged that he could not even be allowed in the same room as his sister now? 

Or perhaps they still thought he meant to bed her. That would certainly explain their reluctance to allow him anywhere near her. That, he knew, was not something his brothers were ever going to have to worry about again. Thanks to the ruin that had been made of his face, the only reaction he was likely to get from the fairer sex was revulsion.

These thoughts and more continue to plague Aramis as he sat in the library once again pretending to read. At least it kept his brothers from trying to talk to him, giving him an excuse to ignore them without appearing overtly hostile and inviting their incessant questioning as to what was wrong.

They should know what was wrong.

Especially d’Artagnan.

He thought it rather ironic that d’Artagnan was so concerned about protecting him _now_. He certainly had not done much to protect him when he had needed it. His face was proof of that. As was the black mark on his shoulder, the black mark that burned all the way down to his soul. His Master had done nothing to save him, nothing to prevent her from corrupting him, from making sure he would be stared at and recoiled from for the rest of his days. And now he had the audacity to barely let him out of his sight, as if there was anything left to actually protect him from.

His frustration starting to get the better of him, Aramis threw down his book and stood. He would heat some water and give himself a bath. Perhaps then he could manage to calm himself. If he kept going as he was now, he was likely to say something that would have them all clustering around him even more, smothering the life out of him under the guise of their care.

It did not take long for the water to heat and Aramis soon had a shallow bath prepared. As he stepped into it, he heard the door open and paused. When he turned to look, he saw d’Artagnan entering the room, bearing a towel, and clenched his jaw in irritation.

“I thought I might join you,” d’Artagnan said as he closed the door behind him.

“Of course,” Aramis replied, the sarcasm in his voice unmistakable. He sat down in the water, deciding to simply ignore his Master. He could very well bathe himself. He picked up the rag and began to lather it when a pair of hands covered his own, halting him.

“Here,” d’Artagnan said, taking the cloth and soap from him. “Let me.” 

Aramis could not stop himself from tensing as his Master began to clean him as if he were a helpless child, unable to care for himself in even the most basic of ways. His eyes flashed dangerously, but d’Artagnan did not see because he steadfastly refused to make eye contact as he bathed him. 

When his Master reached his shoulder, Aramis went completely still. He could not stand the thought of anyone touching _it_. Her mark upon him was bad enough, but to have the others putting their hands upon it, touching it, made his skin crawl.

“It seems to be healing nicely,” d’Artagnan remarked as he carefully cleaned the scar.

“Nicely,” Aramis repeated angrily, his eyes narrowing as he continued to watch his Master. “You find her mark upon me nice?” 

d’Artagnan’s eyes quickly went to his lover’s face and he flinched at the anger he saw there. “Aramis,” he began. “I did not mean…”

“Oh,” Aramis cut him off, nearly shouting. “You did not mean it. You did not mean to tell me how _nice_ her fucking crest looked burned into my flesh?” Without warning, Aramis shoved d’Artagnan away from him, causing the younger man to go sprawling on the floor just as the door opened and Athos hurried inside.

“What is wrong?” he asked, his eyes darting between the two trying to take in the scene.

“Get him the hell away from me,” Aramis snarled as he stared at d’Artagnan, panting.

“Come on,” Athos said as he helped d’Artagnan from the floor. He passed Porthos as he led the other man from the room and they shared a worried look. This did not bode well for them. Not at all.

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

Athos ended up staying with Aramis that night. Aramis had steadfastly refused to allow d’Artagnan anywhere near him. Porthos had suggested he stay with the Whelp, thinking the lad might need a shoulder… or a sparring partner. Either way, he would be there for him, and he would try to find out what it was that set Aramis off so badly so that hopefully he and Athos would not make the same mistake.

“What happened?” Porthos asked as he and d’Artagnan settled into the room the Whelp normally shared with Athos. 

“I’m an idiot,” d’Artagnan grumbled, angry at himself for his careless words.

“No, you’re not,” Porthos told him. “Aramis has been primed to blow for awhile now. If it hadn’t of been you, it would have been me or Athos.”

d’Artagnan looked at Porthos then shook his head and looked away. “I told him the brand was healing nicely,” he said. “I told him her fucking mark on his body looked nice. I know how much that damned mark bothers him. What the hell is wrong with me?”

“You weren’t telling him that,” Porthos said. “You were just telling him that it was healing okay, that it wasn’t infected or anything. And if he was thinking clearly, he would have known that. He’s not himself right now, Whelp. You can’t hold this against him.”

“I don’t!” d’Artagnan snapped then closed his eyes and breathed deeply. “I’m sorry, brother. I don’t. The fault was mine. And even if it was not, he has been through hell. I will not begrudge him whatever he needs to do to cope with all that was done to him.”

“I know, lad,” Porthos said, gripping the back of d’Artagnan’s neck and squeezing. “I’m sorry he yelled at you like he did. You know he didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Yes, he did,” d’Artagnan said. “And he had every right to. When his rage has cooled, I shall try to apologize and make amends if he will allow it.”

“He’ll always forgive you,” Porthos told him.

“I believe you are confusing us, brother,” d’Artagnan said, smiling softly, though it did not reach his eyes. “You are the one who can do no wrong in his eyes. But I thank you for saying it all the same.”

“Whelp,” Porthos growled. “You need some time for you. Let me take care of you for tonight.”

“I do not need…”

“Yeah, you do,” Porthos told him. “You are strung tight as a bow and nearly exhausted from worrying over the lot of us. Allow us to worry over you for once. You do not have to always be in charge, d’Artagnan. You do not have to always be in control. Even you are allowed to let go on occasion.”

“Make me forget, Porthos,” d’Artagnan said, yielding to the yearning inside of him to let another shoulder the burden, at least for a little while. “For just a little while, make me forget everything but you and I.”

“Gladly,” Porthos smiled. He took d’Artagnan by the hand and drew him closer. Slowly, he began to undress him, taking his time about it. He made sure to touch and caress as much of the other man’s skin as he could while he did so, heightening the pleasure for him along the way.

Once he had him down to just his smallclothes, he lay him down on the bed on his stomach then took out the oil they kept on hand. Pouring a bit into the palm of his hand, he set the bottle aside them rubbed his hands together to warm the oil before settling down on the bed next to the other man.

d’Artagnan moaned loudly at the feel of Porthos’ oil-slick hands on his shoulders. He had known he was tense, but had not realized just how much until Porthos began working out the knots running up and down his back. 

“Feel good, Whelp?” Porthos chuckled as he continued to work the kinks out of his brother’s back.

“God, yes,” d’Artagnan replied breathlessly. He was not lying, Porthos’ hands upon him felt heavenly and not just because they were easing tension he had been carrying with him for days. It had been far too long since he had felt his brother’s hands upon him, far too long since the two of them had taken the time to share more than a few simple words with each other. 

Athos was not the only brother d’Artagnan felt the need to reconnect with.

“I have missed you,” d’Artagnan said softly as Porthos continued to work the muscles in his back. He was done with his shoulders and working on his lower back now, down near the dip of his spine, dangerously close to the swell of his ass and d’Artagnan felt the first stirrings of arousal begin to build in him from the man’s proximity alone.

“I’m here,” Porthos told him, his voice low and deep. It felt good to be touching the boy like this, to be taking care of him for once. It felt good, too, simply to be touching him, to be running his hands all over that smooth, tanned skin, hardly yet marred by the life of a soldier. Such an expanse of unmarked skin made Porthos want to lean down and bite and kiss and suck until he had left marks of his own all over it.

“Porthos…” d’Artagnan moaned when Porthos let his hands slide a bit lower, his thumbs slipping under the edge of his smalls enticingly.

Hearing his name moaned out even as the beauty spread out before him arched up under his hands was more than Porthos’ fragile control could take. With a growl, he grabbed d’Artagnan and flipped him over onto his back. The resultant gasp followed quickly by yet another moan told Porthos all he needed to know.

Sitting back, Porthos quickly shed his own shirt and breeches as d’Artagnan watched through heavy-lidded eyes. Once he was down to his smalls as well, he climbed onto the bed beside the younger man. d’Artagnan, however, had other ideas and quickly grabbed him and rolled them so that Porthos lay atop him.

“Fuck,” Porthos groaned. “This what you want, boy? Huh?”

“Yes,” d’Artagnan said, flushing slightly at the admission.

“Yeah, you like me pinning you down,” Porthos whispered into his ear as he ground his erection against d’Artagnan’s own. “You like me pinning you down and just taking what I want. Gets you hot knowing you’re the one who doesn’t have a choice this time, doesn’t it?”

“Porthos… please…” d’Artagnan begged as he tried to thrust his hips up into the other man’s The bigger man’s weight held him in place, though, not allowing him to move. He tried to turn his head to kiss Porthos again, the man gripped him by the hair and held his head to the side, baring his neck to him. 

Porthos stared down at d’Artagnan, taking in the rapid breathing and lust-blown eyes. He grinned when the boy did not fight the hold he had on him, letting him bare his throat as he wanted. Knowing he had to taste him, Porthos bit down hard on d’Artagnan’s neck, causing the man to cry out and try to buck his hips futilely yet again.

“Please… please…” d’Artagnan begged as Porthos bit and sucked at his neck. At this point, he was not even sure what he was begging for. He certainly did not want Porthos to release him, yet he did not know how much more of this he could endure. It was the sweetest form of torture and it was undoing him in ways d’Artagnan had not thought possible.

“What do you want?” Porthos asked him. “You have but to tell me, lad.”

“I… I don’t know,” d’Artagnan said, panting.

“Then I guess you’ll just have to take what I give you,” Porthos said. He let his eyes turn hard as he looked down at d’Artagnan and was pleased to see the younger man’s eyes grow even darker with desire, his face flushing redder and his breathing becoming quick.

“Yes,” d’Artagnan told him. “Anything. Please, anything.”

“Anything?” Porthos smirked. “Really? And if I say I want to fuck you? Is your sweet little virgin ass included in anything, boy?”

“An-an-anything,” d’Artagnan stammered. He would not deny this man. He would not refuse him. If this was Porthos’ wish then he would see him have it. His brother deserved no less.

“You have no idea how tempted I am to strip you bare right here and fuck you so hard they hear you back at the garrison,” Porthos told him hotly. “But that’s not for me. Not yet at least. Athos and Aramis get that first. I only get you when they’re done.”

d’Artagnan could not stop the shudder that ran through him at his brother’s words. He knew Porthos had not meant them like that, but he still could not help but picture it… himself on his hands and knees, spend from both his brothers running down his thighs as Porthos prepared to take him at last.

“Something about that really turned you on,” Porthos said, noticing the way d’Artagnan’s arousal suddenly increased. “Tell me.”

“It was… was what you said,” d’Artagnan panted. “The image of you… you taking me… after them. You taking me… while their spend rand down my thighs.”

Porthos could see it then himself, the picture d’Artagnan had just painted in his mind. He was surprised to find how badly he wanted that, how badly he wanted the boy on his hands and knees, sloppy and exhausted from being used by his brothers but not yet permitted to rest. No, there would be no rest for the Whelp until Porthos’ pleasure had been seen to.

“We’ll give you that,” Porthos promised him. “Once Aramis is better again, we’ll give you that. We’ll give you everything. But right now, I think we both need to spend.” He began to thrust against him then, grinding down and rutting their clothed cocks against each other. He was close and knew d’Artagnan had to be as well. 

A few moments later, Porthos was proven right as d’Artagnan cried out and went stiff beneath him, his cock spending in his smalls as Porthos continued to thrust and grind down into him. As he watched d’Artagnan, a look of utter devotion settled over his features and Porthos found himself helpless to stand against it. With a final groan, he ground down against d’Artagnan’s spent cock and found his release.

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

Aramis threw himself down on the bed in their shared room as Athos closed and locked the door behind them. He was not trying to keep the other two out so much as trying to make sure Aramis did not abruptly disappear, or take after d’Artagnan sword in hand. Not that he thought he would. Angry or not, Aramis would not harm one of his brothers. Athos knew that. But he had never seen Aramis quite this angry before, not at one of them. And he had certainly never seen him react in such a physical way with d’Artagnan.

“Aramis,” Athos began as the turned around. One look at his brother stopped him.

“Do you find her mark upon me nice as well, Athos?” Aramis asked, his anger still simmering dangerously just beneath the surface. 

“No,” Athos replied calmly. “I find it obscene.”

“Does it not excite you to see her mark upon me? To see me made her slave? To witness my utter humiliation?” Aramis pressed.

“You know it does not,” Athos told him. “I would do anything to take this from you, to rid you of this… this mark you find so onerous, but I cannot.”

“That you would do so means more to me than you could possibly know,” Aramis said. “How you do not see the taint she has left in me, I do not understand.”

“There is no taint in you, brother,” Athos replied fiercely. “You are as clean and pure today as you have ever been. A mark upon your skin does not change who you are. Not in my eyes.”

Aramis tried to hold his emotions back at Athos’ words but a strangled sob escaped him. A moment later, he felt the bed dip and Athos’ strong arms wrapping around him. He returned the embrace eagerly and felt a tiny bit of the weight lift from his soul as he realized that at least Athos still loved him, still desired him, still thought him… worthy.

“Please,” Aramis begged as he tried to pull Athos farther down onto the bed with him.

“What is it?” Athos asked as he held him. “What do you need?”

“Make love with me,” Aramis whispered, his voice so low Athos barely heard him. None of his brothers had done more than press fleeting kisses to his forehead or unmarred cheek since their return. He needed to know that he was still desired, that the scars upon him, both inside and out, had not lessened him in his brothers’ eyes.

“I love you more than life, brother,” Athos told him as he pulled back to look the other man in the face. “Not a day goes by that I do not find myself desirous of your touch. Of that, you should have no doubt. Do you need me to prove it to you? To show you with actions that my words do not lie?”

“I do not think you a liar,” Aramis said softly.

“But you find it difficult to believe me all the same,” Athos nodded. “Then I shall show you, for I will not have you doubting yourself or you place within my heart.”

“It is not the desire of your heart that I despair of,” Aramis admitted.

“Then let me show you that I still want you, my love. Just as strongly as I did all those months ago before any of this, before d’Artagnan, Porthos, the ruins, any of it. I wanted you with all my heart and soul then. In all this time, that has not changed.”

“Athos,” Aramis moaned and surged toward him, kissing him hard.

Athos met him, taking his fevered kiss and returning it then rubbing his arms soothingly, gentling the kiss until it resembled those they used to share once more.

“It always unmans me when you are so very gentle with me,” Aramis said as he broke their kiss at last.

Reluctantly, Athos drew away from Aramis and stood. He shed his clothes slowly, blushing slightly at the unabashed longing in Aramis’ eyes as he watched him. He was not normally one for putting on such displays but he knew how much his lover enjoyed it. When he was finally naked, Athos returned to the bed, stretching out beside Aramis and pulling him into his arms.

“Athos,” Aramis moaned as his lover began kissing his jaw and all down the side of his neck. His brother concentrated on his left side, staying well clear of the scars Aramis so loathed. He should have known his Athos would understand. Athos always understood. 

“I am here,” Athos whispered. “I have you. Tell me what you want, what you need.”

“You,” Aramis said at once.

“How would you like to have me?” Athos asked him. “Name it, beloved, and it will be yours.”

“Can I… can I take you?” Aramis panted as Athos once again began to gently nibble at his neck. He continued down to where his neck met his shoulder and Aramis groaned loudly at the feel of his lover’s mouth _there_.

Athos pulled away for a moment to look his lover in the eyes. “I would like nothing more than to give myself to you. Shall I ride you, love? Would you like that? Would you like to simply lay here and watch while I take you inside of me?”

“I do not… do not know that I want you looking down at me,” Aramis admitted.

“Aramis,” Athos said, letting some of his exasperation show in his voice. “You are as beautiful to me today as you have ever been. More so, in fact, for I know how very close I came to losing you. I will always want to look at you and consider it a privilege whenever you allow it.”

Aramis felt his heart lurch in his chest and had to squeeze his eyes shut to keep his sudden tears at bay. “I love you so very much, Athos,” he finally managed.

“No more than I love you, brother,” Athos replied and leaned down to kiss him tenderly once more. When he pulled back this time, Aramis’ eyes were open again. He was looking up at him with such trust that Athos felt a wave of protectiveness come over him. He kissed Aramis once more then rolled over to retrieve the oil from the nightstand.

Aramis watched as Athos turned back toward him, the pot of oil in hand. He opened his mouth to say something but Athos cut him off with another kiss, this one much deeper than the last. By the time Athos pulled back, Aramis was near panting. 

“Do you want to watch while I prepare myself?” Athos asked, his eyes going dark with desire at the look of want on his lover’s face. 

“Yes,” Aramis gasped, the very thought making his cock harden.

Athos sat up and moved back on the bed, giving Aramis room to spread his legs. He settled between them on his knees, so his lover could watch as he began to prepare himself. Oiling his fingers, he reached between his legs and slid two of them inside himself, moaning as his body stretched to accommodate them. 

“Careful,” Aramis cautioned even as his breath grew shallow at the sight. He could not deny finding Athos arousing like this but that did not mean he wanted to watch his brother hurt himself. 

“I find myself impatient,” Athos panted as he began to slide his fingers in and out, stretching his hole.

“As am I,” Aramis said, “but I do not want you to hurt yourself.”

Athos forced himself to slow down at Aramis’ words, touched that his brother was so concerned for his welfare. “I will be mindful,” he said as he pressed his fingers in and out at a more sedate pace. Once he felt his body start to relax, he pulled his fingers free and added more oil then slid them back inside. He began to thrust harder once more, wanting to open himself just a little more before he took his brother inside of him. He knew this position would make it harder on him and he needed to be prepared for it.

Aramis could not help but reach down and grasp his straining erection as he watched Athos fucking himself right in front of him. His cock was fully hard, fluid beading at the tip and he stroked himself lazily as he continued to watch.

Deciding he was stretched enough, Athos pulled his fingers free. He poured more oil into his palm and wrapped his hand around Aramis’ erection. He smiled at the moan he pulled from his lover as he spread the oil over his cock, enjoying the feel of Aramis’ hardness in his slick hand.

“Ready?” Athos asked as he knelt over him.

Aramis nodded and held his cock by the base. He felt Athos settle against him until his hole was snug against the head. A moment later, Athos was pushing back against him, breaching his own body with Aramis’ cock then sliding down until he was fully seated.

Athos did not stop until his ass was pressed against Aramis’ groin, the other man’s cock buried inside him to the hilt. He felt his body spasming around it, fighting the rather abrupt intrusion, but he stayed where he was, panting through the discomfort as he forced his body to adjust. When he felt his body finally begin to relax he chanced a look at Aramis and the look he saw on his face made his own flagging erection begin to fill once more.

“God, Athos,” Aramis moaned as he felt his lover encasing him totally. He could feel the man’s body protesting the intrusion and he held perfectly still, waiting for his lover to adjust. He knew better than to suggest they stop. If Athos felt the need to, he would say so. 

“You feel huge like this,” Athos gasped as he moved forward the tiniest bit then back again.

Aramis nearly cried out at the sensation of Athos moving on him. It was incredibly intense, to feel him like this and he shuddered with the strain of holding still. His body was crying out to move, to fuck up into the tight heat surrounding him, but Aramis refused. He would not hurt this man. Not his brother. Not Athos.

Slowly, Athos began to move, then faster and faster. It was not long before he was fucking himself on Aramis’ cock with abandon, both of them sweating and panting with the exertion. Athos wanted to reach down and take himself in hand but he was using his hands to brace himself. He thought of asking Aramis, but his brother’s hands on his hips felt too good. Besides, from the way things were going, Athos did not think he would need to be touched to spend himself. Just the feel of Aramis inside him like this would be enough.

“I am close,” Aramis began to gasp. “Athos, I am close.” He could feel his completion approaching and began to thrust up helplessly to meet Athos as he fucked himself on his cock.

Athos cried out at the feel of Aramis thrusting hard inside of him. It was the final stimulation he needed to send him crashing over the edge and he began to spend, his body clenching around his lover rhythmically as he continued to move, intent on bringing the other man release as well.

Aramis gasped then moaned at the feel of Athos’ spend striping his stomach and chest. He could feel that hot channel clenching around his cock even tighter and thrust up hard and fast even as he drew Athos down onto him by his hips. With a strangled cry, he began to spend as well, filling Athos with his seed as they both moved together.

When they were finally spent, they lay panting, one atop the other. Athos felt completely wrung out and knew Aramis had to as well. His ass ached already but he did not care about that. He would gladly take the discomfort if he could bring his brother some small amount of peace. Looking down at the relaxed look on Aramis’ face, he thought he might have managed to.

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

d’Artagnan kept his distance for the night, understanding that Aramis needed time to calm down. He had not meant to upset his lover so. He had not meant it to seem as though he did not find the scars upon him an obscenity. He did. But there was nothing to be done for it. At least not now. He had an idea, but he would need to speak to his brothers first. In the meantime, Aramis needed to come to grips with them, to accept them in case there truly was nothing that could be done.

“How is he?” d’Artagnan asked Athos when he entered the sitting room the following morning. 

“Better,” Athos said. “Calmer at least.”

“I did not mean…”

“Peace, d’Artagnan,” Athos said. “I know you did not mean your words the way he took them. Aramis is… struggling. He cannot stand to see her marks upon his body, especially the brand. It sickens him.”

“I know,” d’Artagnan replied miserably, looking away from Athos as he did. He hated this, hated what that bitch had done to his lover, to all of them. And he hated being powerless to do anything about it. 

“Try not to take his words to heart,” Athos said as he sat down next to the younger man. “He does not mean them. Not truly. It is his anger and his pain speaking.”

“Perhaps,” d’Artagnan said. “In either case, I need to speak with him. Do you think he is calm enough?”

“He seemed so when I left him,” Athos replied. “Just… go easy and remember what I said.”

d’Artagnan nodded and stood then headed toward their room… Aramis’ room now really. He paused outside the door and took a steadying breath before walking inside. Aramis was still reclining in the bed, shirtless. The blanket was pulled down low and from the looks of things he was equally bare under the blanket as above. 

“Oh, it’s you,” Aramis said, gripping the edge of the blanket and pulling it up over his stomach.

d’Artagnan had to close his eyes against the wave of pain that simple gesture caused. He repeated Athos’ words in his head, telling himself that this was not really Aramis talking but rather his pain. Ignoring the slight, he moved closer to the bed. “I would like to talk to you, if you do not mind,” d’Artagnan said.

“And if I do?” Aramis challenged. “Will you force your presence on me here as you have forced it upon me everywhere else in this house?”

“No,” d’Artagnan said, the word coming out strangled. He took a step back, putting a careful distance between them and felt something in him break when Aramis actually relaxed at his withdrawal. “You have my humblest apologies. I did not realize my proximity was causing you such distress. I only wished to offer my apologies for my thoughtless words yesterday. I truly did not mean them to come out as they did. I shall leave you in peace now.”

“Thank you,” Aramis said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I am still rather tired. Athos can be quite… vigorous after all. And at least he does not find a demon’s mark upon me _nice_.”

d’Artagnan sucked in a breath and clenched his hands into fists so tight his knuckles turned white. He all but ran from the room then, terrified of what might come out of Aramis’ mouth next if he stayed a moment longer.

“Whelp?” Porthos called as d’Artagnan stormed past him and out of the house. He spared a glance at Athos and hurried after him, knowing Athos would see to Aramis. Whatever was going on with him, Athos at least seemed to be able to get through to him. Porthos was just glad that one of them could. 

He saw d’Artagnan disappear into the barn and relaxed a bit. If the boy was headed there then he probably just wanted some space to think. Still, he would go and make sure the lad was alright. For whatever reason, Aramis had been taking things out on the boy of late and the boy was letting him. Porthos could understand that part of it at least. He doubted if he would argue with Aramis taking his anger out on him either right now. It still hurt to see him doing it to the Whelp, though. Especially with all the boy had done for him… was still doing for him. 

Just as Porthos reached the barn doors, he heard a series of loud thuds. Frowning, he hurried inside in time to see d’Artagnan slamming his fist into the side of one of the stalls. “Oi!” Porthos cried out as he rushed to the younger man and grabbed him before he could slam his fist into it again. 

d’Artagnan jerked when he felt someone grab his arm. He started to fight then realized it was only Porthos. He went still then and let the man pull him away from the stall he had been venting his anger on, knowing that the man was not going to allow him to continue.

“What the hell’s gotten into you, Whelp?” Porthos asked as he examined his hand. He grimaced at the split knuckles that were already starting to swell. It would be a miracle if the boy had not broken a bone or two.

“I was angry,” d’Artagnan shrugged.

“At the wall?” Porthos asked incredulously.

“No,” d’Artagnan said. “At Aramis. But I thought you would prefer me taking it out on the wall rather than him.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I don’t necessarily want you punching Aramis, but I don’t want you punching walls either.”

“I shall try to restrain myself,” d’Artagnan told him, hissing when Porthos pressed a particularly tender spot. 

“I think you might have broken something,” he said. “We may need to get Aramis to take a look at this.”

“No,” d’Artagnan said as he tried to pull his hand back.

Porthos held onto his wrist, refusing to let him. “I won’t tell him how you did it,” he promised. “But he needs to take a look at it.”

“He won’t want to,” d’Artagnan said, looking away. He was ashamed to admit that he doubted if Aramis would even care that he was injured or why. 

“Hey now,” Porthos said. He used his free hand to grab d’Artagnan’s chin and force his head back up. “He will care. Aramis cares about you. He may be going through a rough time right now, but he still cares about you, Whelp. He loves you. That doesn’t just stop and you know that.”

“I thought I did,” d’Artagnan said, shaking his head then throwing it back to stare up at the ceiling. “But I don’t know what to think anymore. Sometimes… sometimes I think he hates me.”

“Believe me, boy, he doesn’t hate you,” Porthos told him. “If he hated you, he wouldn’t be doing all of this. I know it doesn’t make much sense but trust me. Okay?”

When Porthos brought d’Artagnan back into the house, they found Athos and Aramis in the sitting room. Both men were surprised when Porthos led d’Artagnan in by the arm, cradling his injured hand carefully. 

“What happened?” Athos asked as he hurried over to them and began examining d’Artagnan’s swollen hand. The knuckles had already begun to bruise lending credence to Porthos belief that some of the bones might actually be broken.

“I fell,” d’Artagnan said after a moment. Athos quirked an eyebrow at his obvious lie but did not challenge him on it.

“I think Aramis ought to take a look at it,” Porthos said softly. “I’m pretty sure he broke something but I can’t tell how bad it is.”

“I am fine, Porthos,” d’Artagnan said as he tried to pull his hand back once more. This time Athos and Porthos both held him in place. 

“Let me see it,” Aramis said softly as he pushed his way between Athos and Porthos. He had come over when he realized that d’Artagnan had been hurt. No matter how angry he was at the man, he was still his brother. He would still offer his care when he was injured or in pain. Surely the man knew that. 

Aramis did not even have to examine d’Artagnan’s hand up close to know his injury was not the result of any fall. Not unless he had fallen off the roof of the barn. And landed on his fist. Repeatedly. No, Aramis had treated enough such injuries to know exactly what one’s fist looked like when one had punched a rather unyielding surface with it. And it was obvious that d’Artagnan had done so more than once. 

“I am afraid dear Porthos is right,” Aramis said after swallowing around the sudden thickness in his throat. “You appear to have broken at least one knuckle and two or three of the smaller bones in your hand. I am afraid this will be quite painful for you until it heals. I… I am sorry.”

“Not your fault,” d’Artagnan said gruffly. “Guess I’m just too clumsy for my own good.” He pulled his hand back then and tucked it in close to his chest. The urge to flee, to curl up someplace small and dark and safe was nearly overwhelming. He had not felt such an urge… in a very long time. He would not give in to it, though. His brothers had enough to deal with without him adding to their distress.

“Is there anything we should do?” Athos asked when Aramis failed to offer any further advice.

“Um, try to keep it as immobilized as possible,” Aramis said. “Don’t use it for anything and try to keep it elevated as much as possible to reduce the swelling. I… I can make you a tea for the pain.”

“Don’t trouble yourself for me,” d’Artagnan told him. 

“It is no trouble,” Aramis replied, his voice almost beseeching. 

d’Artagnan stated to reply, to tell him it was not necessary when he felt Porthos touch his elbow. He spared his brother a quick glance and the minute shake of his head told him to let it go, to let Aramis do this. Reluctantly, d’Artagnan agreed. “Very well then,” d’Artagnan said, his words stiff and formal. “I thank you for your kindness.”

“You… you are my brother, d’Artagnan,” Aramis said. 

d’Artagnan grew sleepy after drinking the tea Aramis had brewed for him. When he began to doze off on the divan, his brothers had simply stretched him out on it and covered him with a blanket. Athos had stayed with him, leaving Porthos and Aramis to do as they would. 

Aramis had wanted to go for a walk about the grounds again, restless once more from being cooped up in the house for so long. Porthos kept his mouth shut about going with him, remembering how upset he had gotten about the Whelp not giving him any space. 

“If you wish to accompany me, I do not mind,” Aramis told him as he donned his doublet and picked up his pistols.

“Are you sure?” Porthos asked, not wishing to intrude if Aramis wanted solitude. He knew he was safe enough here on their estate after all.

“I am sure,” Aramis smiled at him. “I would not have asked if I was not.”

“Alright,” Porthos said and quickly slipped his own doubled on. “It’s just… you don’t seem to like it much when the Whelp tries to follow you anyplace. I don’t want to crowd you if you’d rather be alone.”

“I would not,” Aramis replied. He tried not to think about what Porthos had said but it kept running through his mind as they made their way along the trails leading out behind the house. He was right, though. He did react differently when it was d’Artagnan that tried to get too close. If it was Athos or Porthos, he did not seem to mind, he welcomed it even, but if it was d’Artagnan…

“You’re quiet,” Porthos observed as they walked. He did not want to bother Aramis but he did not want him to get lost in his head either.

“Just thinking,” Aramis said. 

“Nothing bad, I hope,” Porthos chanced.

“No, love,” Aramis said. “At least nothing too bad. Just… trying to figure something out, that’s all.”

“Alright then,” Porthos said. “Just let me know if I can help.”

“You already have,” Aramis told him.

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

When they returned to the house it was to find d’Artagnan up and in the kitchen attempting to prepare dinner. “What are you doing?” Aramis demanded as he watched the younger man trying to cook without using his injured hand. It was not going well.

“Preparing dinner,” d’Artagnan replied without turning around.

“You need to rest that hand,” Aramis said.

“And we need to not starve to death,” d’Artagnan countered. “I will use it as little as possible but unless one of you has miraculously learned how to cook in the last day then I do not see as I have much choice.”

“You can tell me what to do,” Athos suggested. He was leaning against the doorframe, watching. He had tried to convince their stubborn Whelp to let one of them handle things until his hand was healed but he would not hear of it. Maybe with all three of them telling him he would listen.

Porthos looked back and forth between his brothers and wanted to scream. He was not sure what he had done to deserve such stubborn jackasses for lovers but he was sure it could not possible merit this. Striding forward, he took the pan from d’Artagnan’s hand and pushed him back toward the table.

“Make him sit down,” he said to Aramis then turned to Athos. “Get over here and help me. You and I will be taking care of this until his hand is healed up.”

“An excellent idea, Porthos,” Athos replied as he joined his brother.

While Athos and Porthos took over the cooking, Aramis took d’Artagnan by the shoulders and sat him down at the table. He felt the lad tense under his hands and told himself that it was just the soreness of his hand that caused it, the expectation of pain. He ignored the voice inside his head that said it was the expectation of pain alright, it was the expectation of more vitriol from him that had their youngest flinching at the lightest touch.

“Alright,” Athos said once dinner was over and he and Porthos had cleared the table. “I think those stitches are ready to come out. Aramis, what do you think?”

Aramis reached up and lightly touched the stitches on his face. They certainly felt ready to be removed. “Yes,” he said, nodding. “I think it’s time.”

They quickly gathered what they would need, including Aramis’ medical kit, water, towels and fresh bandages, just in case. Athos set a bottle of brandy down on the table as well, thinking they might all need the fortification before they were finished. 

“Who do you want to take them out, love?” Porthos asked as Aramis sat down on the table itself so that his face was high enough to work on comfortably.

“Athos,” Aramis answered without hesitation. He caught d’Artagnan’s flinch out of the corner of his eye and winced inside. He had not meant for his choice to be taken like that. He had only been thinking of practicalities. With d’Artagnan’s hand broken, he did not have the manual dexterity needed to remove them and Porthos had never proven very good at putting stitches in or taking them out. 

“As you wish,” Athos said, keeping his tone light. He had not missed the way d’Artagnan had subtlety drew back, or the way the light in his eyes had seemed to dim. He had told the lad not to take their brother’s words to heart right now but it would seem that was proving rather difficult. Athos could commiserate. If it was him Aramis was flaying into so viciously, he was not sure he could stand against it even half so well as d’Artagnan was. 

Taking up the small scissors from Aramis’ medical kit, Athos began to carefully cut the stitches and remove them from his brother’s face. One by one, he cut them and pulled them out. The angry red lines they left behind would have made him grimace had he not already schooled his features for Aramis’ sake. Still, it was hard to see his once handsome face so marred. Athos knew, of course, that time would dull their severity, as it did with most things. Aramis, however, was not exactly known for being a patient man.

“That bad, is it?” Aramis joked once the last stitch had been removed.

“It is a fresh scar,” Athos said, refusing to lie to his brother. “You know how these things tend to look. It will fade in time.”

“And how many people will look upon me as a monster as I wait for time to do its work?” Aramis asked, closing his eyes against the pain of reality.

“Do you truly care what callous, small-minded people think?” d’Artagnan asked from behind him. “Those who know you, those who love you, will continue to do so. The marks upon your face will not change how they feel about you. Nothing on this earth has the power to do that.”

They retired for the night not long after that. While it was d’Artagnan’s turn to spend the evening with Aramis, he asked Porthos if he would mind taking his place. It had been on the tip of the man’s tongue to refuse, to force the pair to spend the night together, but one look at the boy’s exhausted face had stopped him. d’Artagnan was spent. The boy was barely holding on. Porthos did not think he had the wherewithal to endure another assault from Aramis should the man suddenly turn vicious on him again. 

“I had thought it was d’Artagnan’s shift,” Aramis said when Porthos entered the room.

“It was,” Porthos replied. “But the lad’s hand is paining him. He did not want to keep you up all night because of it. Maybe he will feel better tomorrow.”

Aramis waited until Porthos was settled into bed with him, spooned up behind him and holding him tight. “Tell me the truth, Porthos,” Aramis said softly. “Have I lost him?”

“No,” Porthos told him. “You’ll not lose him until you cut him loose. Even then, he’ll still be near. He will always be your brother, love, same as us. No matter what else might change, that never will.”

“I have been cruel to him,” Aramis admitted. “I have said…”

“Don’t,” Porthos told him. “Don’t tell me. Whatever it is, it’s between you and him. Just know that we are here for you. All of us. You don’t have to do this alone, Aramis. We love you and we’ll help you any way we can.”

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

The next morning Porthos awoke to find Aramis propped up on his arm looking down at him. “Good morning,” he smiled. He always found waking up with Aramis a pleasant experience and always would.

“Good morning,” Aramis grinned back. 

“Feeling better?” Porthos asked still treading somewhat carefully. Aramis’ moods were volatile to say the least and he did not want to say anything to set him off.

“Much,” Aramis told him. “A restful night in your arms has done wonders for me.”

“I am glad,” Porthos replied. He hesitated a moment then decided to try to talk to Aramis about what had been going on with him of late, especially with him and the Whelp. “We have been worried for you. We know this cannot be easy for you. We try our best to understand what you are going through, but none of us truly can.”

“No,” Aramis agreed, shaking his head slightly. It was true and he was relieved that Porthos was admitting that he and the others understood that. 

“May I ask you something?” 

“You just did,” Aramis joked weakly then sobered. “But I take it from your tone that you are worried about my reaction to whatever it is you wish to ask. Ask me, brother, and I will do my best to answer without letting my emotions get the best of me.”

“If you do not wish to answer, simply say so and I will let it drop,” Porthos told him.

“Alright,” Aramis said, even more worried now. “What is it you wish to know?”

“Why do you blame the boy?” Porthos asked him baldly. It had been bothering him for days now and it only seemed to be getting worse. After yesterday’s incident with d’Artagnan’s hand, Aramis appeared to back off a little, but Porthos had a feeling the reprieve was only temporary. Aramis blamed the lad for what had happened to him and Porthos did not understand why.

Aramis froze next to Porthos even as his heart thundered in his chest. Of all the questions he had expected from his lover, this was not one of them. He thought about refusing to answer. He knew Porthos would let it drop if he did. He had said as much, after all. He thought he owed his lover more than that, though. 

“I… I do not know,” Aramis said after a moment. “I do not think I blame him…”

Porthos shook his head. “Maybe not intentionally, but inside you do. You are angry and you take it out on him in ways you do not do with me and Athos.”

“I had not realized…” Aramis began then trailed off. He cast his mind back over the last week or so, trying to remember. Things were jumbled, conversations unclear. He could remember saying things but not who he had been talking to. Sometimes he was not even sure if they were real or simply fragments of dreams.

“Fair enough,” Porthos said, accepting Aramis’ answer without judgment. “You’ve been through hell, love. We all know that.”

“Porthos,” Aramis said suddenly, paling slightly as he thought of how to phrase the question he needed answered. In the end, he simply came out with it and hoped Porthos would tell him. “How… how did d’Artagnan injure his hand? I know it was not from any fall.”

“I did not actually see all of it so I cannot say with complete certainty,” Porthos hedged. “Therefore, I think that question is best answered by d’Artagnan himself. I am sorry, love. I know that is not what you wanted to hear, but I think it needs to come from him.”

“It was because of me, wasn’t it?” Aramis pressed. “Because of what I said to him.”

“That I do not know,” Porthos told him. “The lad refused to say.”

“Ever my protector, even when I least deserve it.”

“You will always deserve it in his eyes, Aramis. Always. There is nothing you can do or say that will ever change that. Not for d’Artagnan. Not for Athos and I, either.”

When the pair finally emerged from their room, they found Athos and d’Artagnan in the kitchen. Athos was working on preparing a light breakfast for the lot of them at d’Artagnan’s direction. As Porthos went to help him, Aramis sat down beside d’Artagnan and reached out to take his injured hand. 

d’Artagnan hesitated for a moment, a bolt of fear running through him, but he shoved it down and allowed Aramis to take his hand. He grit his teeth as Aramis gently prodded the sore appendage, knowing the man was being as careful as he could. When he released it, d’Artagnan pulled it back to his chest, cradling it against himself.

“It seems to be healing well,” Aramis said softly. “After breakfast, I can wrap it to try to keep the swelling at bay. That should allow you some limited use of it. If you would like, that is.”

“If it is no trouble,” d’Artagnan replied.

Aramis swallowed and glanced toward Porthos, his lover’s earlier words coming back to him. “Tending to my brothers is never any trouble,” he said. He saw something in d’Artagnan’s eyes shutter then and realized that he had said the exact wrong thing. “d’Artagnan…”

“I should check the horses,” d’Artagnan said and quickly stood and headed for the back door.

“Let him go,” Athos said when Aramis started to rise as well. “He will not be gone long. He knows I will come and look for him if he is. He only needs a moment.”

“I did not mean to upset him,” Aramis said, genuinely distressed.

“I know,” Athos told him, squeezing his good shoulder softly. “He fears he is losing you. Or has lost you already and does not want you to see his pain. He will be back once he has hidden it away again.”

Athos was correct and d’Artagnan returned to the house just as they were finishing breakfast. “Horses alright?” he asked as d’Artagnan joined them at the table once more.

“Fine,” he replied.

“Good,” Athos said and pushed a plate toward him. “Then eat something.”

“Maybe later,” d’Artagnan said, ignoring the plate. 

“Is your hand hurting?” Aramis asked, hoping that might be the reason for his lack of appetite and not the pain in his heart.

“Somewhat,” d’Artagnan shrugged. “No more so than I would expect mending bones to.” 

“I can wrap it now, if you would like,” Aramis offered. “It might help to ease the pain a bit.”

“If it pleases you,” d’Artagnan replied his voice listless in a way they had not heard in months. 

He did not much care, really, if Aramis wrapped his hand or not. The pain did not matter. In truth, it gave him something to focus on, but if the man wanted to play nursemaid then d’Artagnan would let him. Athos and Porthos had probably put him up to it anyway and would likely not let him be until he had treated his injury in some way. d’Artagnan would just as soon get it over with.

“Come then,” Aramis said as he stood and took d’Artagnan by the elbow, helping him to his feet. He led him from the kitchen and into their shared room. He sat him down on the bed then fetched the dressings he used for binding wounds. “I can give you something for the pain, if you like. This may hurt a bit as I put it on, but it will feel better soon, I promise.”

“I am accustomed to pain,” d’Artagnan told him. 

Aramis nodded his head a bit jerkily and returned to the bed with the necessary items. He bade d’Artagnan hold his arm out and began wrapping it. He grimaced when d’Artagnan sucked in a breath at the pain but did not stop. He knew it was best to simply get it over with and that he pain would recede once the binding was in place. He worked as quickly as he could, making sure the binding was tight but not too tight. When he was finished, he looked up and his heart ached at the tears running down the younger man’s face.

“Oh, love,” he said as he reached out and wiped away a fresh tear track. “I am so sorry. I did not mean to hurt you so.”

“It is alright,” d’Artagnan said shakily. “I know you did not, my Beautiful Boy.”

Aramis sucked in a surprised breath at d’Artagnan’s words, going still all over. d’Artagnan had not called him anything other than ‘Aramis’ in days. To hear such a thing from him now was almost a shock and Aramis found himself recoiling from him.

“I assure you, I am not a boy and I am certainly not _beautiful_ ,” he spat as he let his hand fall from d’Artagnan’s cheek. He did not know why the other man’s words made him so angry all of a sudden, but they did and he turned and fled the room, leaving him sitting on the bed staring after him.

d’Artagnan was still sitting on the bed a little while later when Athos came in. He felt the bed dip when the man sat down beside him but did not acknowledge his presence. He kept running his last words with Aramis over and over through his mind. 

“What happened?” Athos finally asked, breaking d’Artagnan out of his revere.

“I fucked up again, what else?” d’Artagnan replied darkly.

“I am sure you did not,” Athos said.

“I called him Beautiful Boy,” d’Artagnan told him.

“I see,” Athos sighed. “It is something you called him before. It meant something to the two of you. He simply… was not ready to hear it yet. Give him time, d’Artagnan. He does not mean these things he says to you.”

“I wish I could believe you,” d’Artagnan told him, his eyes filling with the tears he could no longer hold back. “Athos… I cannot stay here. I cannot… I will not keep hurting him and that is all I am doing.”

“So you would leave us?” Athos asked, stricken by the very thought.

“Not as such,” d’Artagnan laughed, though it was a painful, broken sound. “I know you and Porthos cannot manage both the manor and Aramis’ recover yourselves. I will make a room for myself in the barn. I will see to the manor and the horses and make sure there are meals for you all, but other than to cook, I will not enter the house.”

Athos stared at him as if he said he had suggested inviting the Cardinal over for afternoon tea. “If you think for one minute that we are going to allow you to stay in the fucking barn like a servant than you are even farther gone than Aramis,” he snarled, anger nearly overtaking him. 

“I know of no other solution other than to leave entirely,” d’Artagnan said. “If that is your preference…”

“If you so much as try, I swear to God we will hunt you down and drag you back by your ankles, boy,” Porthos told him from the open doorway. “What the fuck is going on, Athos? Aramis has locked himself in the spare bedroom and now this one is talking about leaving.”

“d’Artagnan made a comment which Aramis took the wrong way. Again,” Athos explained. “Now d’Artagnan wants to remove himself to the barn so that Aramis does not have to come in contact with him.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard!” Porthos exclaimed. “How the hell’s he going to get over this if he’s never around you?”

“There is no getting over this, Porthos,” d’Artagnan told him. “He hates me. He blames me for what happened to him. He should not be forced to endure the presence of the man responsible for…”

“Stop right there,” Porthos told him. “You are not responsible for what happened to him. I was there, too, Whelp. I saw how hard you fought for him. I saw what you tried to do for him. I don’t have a fucking clue why he’s taking all of this out on you. And neither does he.”

“Talk to him, d’Artagnan,” Athos urged. “Before you consign yourself to a life without him… without all of us, at least try to talk to him. What more harm could it possibly do?”

Deciding Athos was right, that he owed it to all of them to at least try one more time, he pulled himself together. He calmed down as much as he could and washed his face then asked his brothers to wait in the sitting room. He wanted to give Aramis as much privacy as he could in case things got… loud.

Taking the skeleton key Porthos had given him, he unlocked the door to the spare bedroom and pushed it open. He had expected any number of things, but he was woefully unprepared for the sight that greeted him. 

“Aramis!” d’Artagnan shouted as he ran forward and jerked the knife from his lover’s hand. A thin trickle of blood ran down Aramis’ chest just to the left of the scar where he had pressed the blade into his flesh. d’Artagnan watched it with a sick sort of fascination, then his eyes moved to his lover’s face and his anger boiled over.

“What the **fuck** are you doing?” he demanded, panting harshly.

“I am ridding myself of her mark,” Aramis snarled at him. “One way or another I will see it gone from my body.”

“You will not take a blade to your flesh and attempt to cut it off,” d’Artagnan told him.

“It is my body,” Aramis argued. “I can do as I wish with it.”

“You belong to _me_ , Boy,” d’Artagnan snapped as he carefully tucked the blade into his belt with his injured hand and fisted his other hand in Aramis’ hair, the Master in him refusing to allow his precious Boy to harm himself any more. “Am I understood?”

Aramis did not reply. His eyes flashed dangerously as he clenched his jaw on the many retorts that came to mind. “Yes, Sir,” he finally growled defiantly and jerked his head from d’Artagnan’s grasp to stride angrily from the room, pulling on his shirt as he went.

d’Artagnan let him go, knowing that to follow him now would only make things worse. His lover needed to cool off a bit then maybe they could sit down and talk about this. Aramis thought that he did not understand, but he did. d’Artagnan knew how much he hated that scar, how much that mark in particular weighed on him. He saw it as a stain upon his soul and nothing he or the others said could convince him otherwise.

Aramis stormed into the sitting room, intent on heading outside to clear his head. Instead, he found Athos and Porthos sitting together on the divan. Both looked up at his abrupt entrance and he stopped as they stood and came toward him.

“What’s wrong?” Porthos asked. He could see the anger and agitation on his lover’s face and wanted to comfort him.

Aramis opened his mouth to reply but no words would come. There was no way to explain this that would not have them siding with his Master. Unsure what he should do, he reached out for his brothers and pulled them both close. He may not know what to do… but Boy did.

Pulling Porthos in tight against him, Boy kissed him hard. He kept one hand fisted in Athos’ shirt so he would not move away. As soon as he broke the kiss, he turned toward Athos and treated him to the same, keeping Porthos close while he did so. Part of him cringed inside, knowing he was doing this, at least partially, to hurt his Master but it was a small part and he ignored it in favor of the comfort of his brothers’ touches.

Athos and Porthos did not know what had upset Aramis so. They could only guess that d’Artagnan played a part in it somehow. Aramis seemed to be blaming their youngest for near everything of late and it was taking toll on the lad. It was only a matter of time before something had to give. In the meantime, however, they were both loathe to turn Aramis away, as much for his sake as for their own. They knew he still struggled with the physical reminders of his ordeal. They knew he still struggled with what he considered the loss of his beauty. 

They had often teased him of being vain, but truly he was not. Still, the visible scars marring his once handsome face made him feel ugly and undesirable. While Athos had done his best to show him that that was not true, they knew he still had difficulty believing them. His brothers had no desire to add to his misconceptions by turning away his advance, even if they did not know what lay at the heart of it.

Hoping he had given the other man enough time, d’Artagnan went in search of him. He assumed Aramis would make him hunt him down to talk. That was fine with d’Artagnan. He rather thought they could both use the extra time to finish calming. However, things did not quite work out that way. As d’Artagnan entered the sitting room to ask his brothers if Aramis had given any indication as to where he was going, he was stopped short by the sight before him.

Aramis stood near the middle of the room, his back to the doorway and thus d’Artagnan. Athos and Porthos were pressed up against him, laying sucking kisses on either side of his neck as he moaned and writhed between them. d’Artagnan did not even have to see his face to realize that it was Boy who was so wantonly grinding between the two men. He could tell it from the sound of his moans and the way he writhed sensuously between them.

“Please,” he heard Boy beg. “Please. I want you both so much.”

“What do you want us to do, love?” Porthos asked.

“Anything,” Boy panted as Athos continued to suck bruises into the side of his neck. “Anything at all. I am yours.”

d’Artagnan watched for a few moments more before making his presence known. “Enjoying yourself?” he asked from behind them causing all three men to start.

Aramis went completely still. His hands clutched at his brothers reflexively. Boy knew he was in trouble. Very bad trouble. Not only had he been disrespectful to d’Artagnan… to his Master… but he had done… this… as well. And the worst part was, he knew his Master would not have denied him this had he only asked for it. The problem was, he had not asked. Even if Aramis was free to do as he wished with his lovers, Boy did not enjoy that same privilege. And he and d’Artagnan both knew he was very much Boy right now.

“Come here,” d’Artagnan ordered, his voice quiet but steely. He waited until Aramis disentangled himself from the others and walked over to him. When he was close enough, his hand shot out and wrapped around the man’s hair, pulling his head back hard.

“Master…” Aramis cried out, his hands automatically going to his head in an attempt to relieve the painful grip.

“Were you trying to make me this angry?” d’Artagnan seethed. Without waiting for a reply, he slung Aramis toward the doorway. “Go to the spare bedroom. Kneel and wait for me until I come for you.”

Blushing furiously, Aramis all but scurried from the room, leaving the other three men looking after him. He felt his cheeks flame in humiliation at being treated so, especially in front of his brothers. Along with his humiliation, however, he felt a tendril of fear. He had never seen his Master this angry, not at him. He shuddered to think what might be in store for him.

“d’Artagnan,” Athos called softly, trying to draw the younger man’s attention away from Aramis’ retreating back.

“What?” d’Artagnan replied as he turned back to regard his brothers.

"So that was..." Athos trailed off, unsure.

"Boy," d'Artagnan confirmed. At their worried looks he sighed. This was going to be difficult to explain but he would try for his brothers' peace of mind. He ushered the two men over to the divan then sat in the chair opposite it.

"Lad..." Porthos began, glancing nervously between d'Artagnan and Athos.

"He is fine," d'Artagnan said. "Or he will be, given time and care. Give me a moment, brothers.”

“Take your time,” Athos said, confused by the sudden change in d’Artagnan. A few minutes ago he was preparing to move out of the house, now he was resuming his role as Aramis’ Master and rather forcefully at that. 

“He was trying to cut the brand off,” d’Artagnan finally said, knowing no way to say it that would lessen the blow for them.

“What?” Porthos gasped, horrified.

“I stopped him before he could do much damage,” d’Artagnan assured him. “I have forbidden him from doing so again as well.”

“Which is why he attempted this?” Athos asked somewhat needlessly.

“Yes,” d’Artagnan said, his lips thinning in displeasure. “I am sorry. He should not have done so. Rest assured I will be addressing that with him. In the meantime, I have an idea about ridding him of that… that obscenity.”

“How?” Porthos asked at once, willing to do just about anything to get her mark off of their brother.

“How much do you know about creating a crest, Athos?”

“Enough,” Athos nodded, understanding. “You wish to design one for us, for our family.”

“Yes,” d’Artagnan said.

“What good will that do?” Porthos asked.

“He means to place our mark over hers,” Athos explained. “You do realize it will likely be unrecognizable, one over the other?”

“The first time we do it, yes,” d’Artagnan said.

“First time?” Porthos repeated. “You mean to brand him more than once? Have you lost your mind?”

“If you do not wish to be a part of this, Porthos, you do not have to,” d’Artagnan told him. “But I will see that mark off of him no matter what I must do.”

“I will work on ideas for a crest,” Athos said, putting a hand on Porthos to forestall any more arguments. 

“Thank you,” d’Artagnan said. “And make no mention of this to Aramis until everything is ready. The last thing he needs is to get his hopes up only for there to be one problem or another.”

“Agreed,” Athos said. “Now, can you explain a bit more about… about Boy?”

“I can try,” d’Artagnan said. “First of all, Aramis, he is not... damaged. He is not... the others... Boy and Little One... they are not separate. Not truly. They are... are masks he hides behind, armor he wears to protect himself."

Athos frowned, thinking. "The one you call Boy, perhaps. But I do not see how that applies to Little One."

"Do you not?" d'Artagnan asked. "Little One is the mask he wears when he is at his most vulnerable, when all of his walls are down and he is putting his complete trust in the one he is with."

"Then what does he need Boy for?" Porthos asked.

"Because, right now, Little One is too afraid to come out," d'Artagnan replied sadly. "Aramis is hurt and scared and vulnerable. He seeks to protect himself the only way he knows how. So he hides behind the mask of Boy."

"I still do not understand," Porthos said shaking his head.

"Before all of this, they were merely props," d'Artagnan tried again. "Something to... to play with, a costume to take on and off as he wished."

"And now?" Athos asked.

"Now, they are the armor he has donned to protect all of the soft parts inside of him. He can still remove it, but to do so would leave him laid bare, unprotected in a way he simply cannot endure right now."

"How long..." Porthos started to ask.

"I do not know," d'Artagnan replied. "Until he feels safe again. Until he feels strong enough to stand on his own again. Until his trust in us... in me... is restored."

"This is not your fault, d'Artagnan," Athos said, concern marring his features.

"No? Then why does he blame me so?" d'Artagnan said resignedly. "I failed him, Athos. I failed to keep him from her clutches. I failed to protect him in that place. And I continue to fail to help him heal."

"Whelp..." Porthos began but d'Artagnan was already getting to his feet.

“You do realize he was only trying to get your attention, do you not?”

“Well, he has certainly got it now,” d’Artagnan told him. “I will not harm him, I assure you, but this cannot go unaddressed.”

“I know,” Porthos told him. “Just… we’re here for you if you need us. You don’t have to handle this all on your own. Aramis’ recovery is not your burden alone.”

“Not alone perhaps,” d’Artagnan agreed. “But it is my burden, nonetheless, and I will not shy away from it.”

d’Artagnan took a few more minutes to calm himself. He was still angry, angry at Aramis for trying to remove the brand and even more so for what he had tried to do to his brothers. He knew that Athos and Porthos would not hold it against him, but in the end Boy had still tried to use them to get back at him. That, to d’Artagnan, was unacceptable. 

Realizing he was as calm as he was likely to get, d’Artagnan went to join Aramis in the spare bedroom. His calm quickly fled, however, when he found Boy pacing angrily rather than kneeling as he had been instructed. Slamming the door behind him, d’Artagnan crossed the room to him and grabbed him by the arm, spinning him around to face him.

“Let go of me,” Aramis hissed as he tried to pull his arm free.

“I told you to kneel, Boy,” d’Artagnan snarled.

“Get the fuck off of me,” Aramis said and shoved d’Artagnan back hard.

d’Artagnan stared at him for a moment, shocked, then he dove toward him, tackling him to the ground. He quickly flipped Aramis over onto his stomach, drawing his arms behind his back roughly. He pressed his knee into Aramis’ back when he tried to shove him off, digging it in painfully. Casting his eyes about the room for something to use to bind the man with, he spied one of the lengths of rope that Constance had stashed there for their contingency plan. 

Transferring Aramis’ wrists to his good hand, he quickly snatched up the rope and began tying his hands behind his back. It did not escape d’Artagnan that Aramis… that Boy… was not fighting him nearly as hard as he could. If the other man truly wanted to get free, he doubted if he could keep him subdued, not and bind his hands at the same time, especially with one hand practically useless. No, on some level he wanted this and d’Artagnan was happy to give it to him.

Once Boy’s arms were secured, d’Artagnan moved off of him and pulled him none too gently up onto his knees. He stood over him and stared down into a pair of angry, defiant eyes and realized that something had to be done. His Boy was hurting and badly. The hurt he was feeling, however, was on the inside where there was little d’Artagnan could do to soothe it. Perhaps what he needed was to bring that pain, that hurt, to the outside. Maybe then his Boy could find a way to release it. 

“Is this how it is going to be from now on?” d’Artagnan asked as he once again fisted his hand in Aramis’ hair and pulled his head back to an almost painful degree. “You whoring yourself to whomever you can find?”

“So what if it is?” Boy replied, defiance still singing through him. If his Master thought he would be cowed so easily he was mistaken.

“I think you need to be taught a lesson in respect,” d’Artagnan told him darkly. He took a step back and sat down on the side of the bed, dragging Aramis with him as he went. He maneuvered the struggling man until he was lying across his lap. Once he was positioned to his liking, he began to loosen his breeches.

“What are you doing?” Aramis demanded as he squired on d’Artagnan’s lap.

“What do you think I’m doing, Boy?” d’Artagnan shot back as he finished loosening his clothes and began working his breeches and smalls down over his hips. He was glad Aramis could not see him flinch as the pain in his injured hand flared. He did not stop until Aramis’ backside lay bare, though. Using his injured hand, he took Aramis’ bound ones and pulled them up high forcing his chest down and his buttocks up.

As he readied himself for the first blow, d’Artagnan hesitated. He did not like the idea of raising a hand to Aramis without his express consent. He knew, deep down, the man wanted, actually needed, this but it still felt like crossing a line to him. 

“On second thought, perhaps I am not the one who should be doing this,” d’Artagnan said suddenly. “Tell me, is it them you wish to belong to now? Is it them you wish to call Master?”

“No,” Aramis gasped before he could stop himself. The very thought of such a thing was anathema to him. He wanted them, he did, he could not deny that, but he did not want them in his Master’s place. Not that. Never that. 

“I do not think I believe you,” d’Artagnan told him. He could feel the fine tremors running through his lover’s body and ached to soothe him but this was something that he had to come to on his own. 

Aramis tried to raise himself up but d’Artagnan’s hold on his arms prevented him. “It is true,” he said. “I do want them, but not in your place. Not ever that. Please… please, Master, I will never touch them again if it means I can remain yours.”

“Are you sure that is what you wish?” d’Artagnan pressed. “To still be my Boy?”

“How can you… Master… I am yours. Or… or I was yours before she took me and… and made me hers…” Aramis said, tears filling his eyes as he realized that he had actually made his Master doubt that. He had actually made his Master think that he no longer wished to be owned by him. The thought sent a bolt of pain through him the likes of which he had never felt before. 

“Enough!” d’Artagnan spat, using his arm to push Aramis’ hands higher up his back and eliciting a gasp from him. “You are not hers. You have never been hers. You will never be hers. You belong to us. More specifically, Boy, you belong to me. And it is past time I showed you that again.”

“But the others… What I did…” Aramis trailed off, confused. 

“We can discuss what you are and are not allowed with your brothers later. Right now you should be more concerned with placating your Master. I am still quite cross with you, Boy.”

“Please, Master,” Aramis said at once. “Please tell me how I might make amends. I am so sorry. I did not mean…”

“Yes, you did,” d’Artagnan told him. “You meant everything you did. You meant to be blame me, as well you should I suppose. And you meant to use your brothers to hurt me, which is something they do not deserve. You will be apologizing to them for that and begging for their forgiveness. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Master,” Aramis said softly. His Master’s words had cut into him like knives. He had not meant to be so cruel, especially to his Master. He had not meant to blame him. And he had not meant to use his brothers so callously. It was no wonder his Master was so very disappointed in him. 

“You understand now, I take it?” d’Artagnan asked, his voice gentling for the first time.

“Yes, Master,” Aramis replied, subdued. “I… I have no words that can tell you…”

“Be quiet, Boy,” d’Artagnan said, pleased when Aramis snapped his mouth closed at once. “I do not wish to hear your apologies. Save those for your brothers.”

Aramis felt like his heart had splintered. He gasped as hot tears pricked his eyes and began to fall. “Have I fallen so far from your grace that you cannot even begin to forgive me now?” His tears fell harder as he wondered if he had managed to ruin one of the few good things left in his miserable life. 

“That is not why I do not wish to hear your apologies, Boy,” d’Artagnan told him. He could feel Aramis shaking as he lay across his lap and knew that he was crying in earnest now. 

“Then why will you not allow me to try to make amends with you?” Aramis asked through his tears, not understanding.

“Because it is unnecessary,” d’Artagnan explained. “To make amends there must be some wrongdoing that one holds another accountable for. There is no wrongdoing I hold you accountable for. Not in regards to me.”

“How can you say such a thing?” Aramis asked him. “I have… have been disrespectful. I have been intentionally cruel to you time and again. I have yelled at you and shoved you. I even… even tried to use our own dear brothers to hurt you. How can you say I have nothing to make amends to you for?”

“Because I love you,” d’Artagnan told him. “You were hurting. You still are. That you would lash out, and at me in particular, is understandable. The fault in this lies with me. I should never have let it go on for this long. I am not your whipping boy, Aramis. You would do well to remember that.”

“Yes, Master,” Aramis replied softly. Tears were still slowly rolling down his face but he did not care. He had disappointed his Master, had made him feel as though his own failings were somehow his fault when all he had been was patient and understanding with him. He did not deserve such treatment. 

“Tell me what you are thinking,” d’Artagnan said after a moment. Aramis had fallen silent but he could still feel the fine tremors running through him and knew he was still crying.

“That I do not deserve you,” Aramis said miserably. “That you have been nothing but kind and patient with me and I have repaid that with abuse and recriminations. I am ashamed of myself and it… it hurts… inside… to know I have done such damage to what lies between us. I know you will say I have not, but I also know that you are wrong.”

“Then what does my Boy suggest?” d’Artagnan asked him. He knew, of course, what Aramis would say. He had known from the beginning. It was why he was stretched out over his lap, his bottom bared. For all he had spoken of not needing Aramis to make amends to him, Aramis himself needed to do so. But d’Artagnan needed him to come to that realization himself. It was not something he would demand of him. Aramis would have to ask for it.

“Given our positions, I would think that rather obvious,” Aramis replied.

“Not good enough, Boy,” d’Artagnan told him. “If you want this from me, then you will have to ask me for it.”

“Yes, Master,” Aramis said, sucking in a breath at d’Artagnan’s words. He took a moment to simply breathe then began again. “Master, I have… I have damaged what is between us by my callous words and deeds. I would show you my contrition, and humbly beg of your forgiveness, by submitting myself to you for… for your chastisement.”

“And how do you wish me to chastise you?” d’Artagnan pressed.

“I wish you to beat me,” Aramis said. “I wish you to do so until you are content that the punishment has fit the crime, as it were. I wish you to do so with whatever implement you choose, though I would prefer you use something other than your own hand.”

“Why is that?” d’Artagnan asked, a bit taken aback by the specifics of Aramis’ request.

“Because I do not deserve to feel your hand upon me. Because I do not wish you to cause yourself even a moment’s pain in this. Especially when I know you have already caused yourself pain because of me. And because I deserve to be taken out and whipped for my behavior yet I know you will do no such thing so I must settle for this.”

“I do not know that I can bring myself to take more than my hand to you,” d’Artagnan told him honestly.

“I am not Little One,” he replied. “You do not have to coddle me. I can take it and I deserve it, for I am the one who has caused all of this.”

“You are you, Aramis,” d’Artagnan said. “All of your… your selves, they are still you.”

“I know,” Aramis admitted. “I know they are but… but facets of me… sides of my personality that I choose to don or take off as I see fit. That does not negate what I said, however. Boy is stronger than Little One. He… I can take it. And I am the one that caused this. I should be the one to pay for it.”

d’Artagnan hesitated but only for a moment. He knew that Boy, that Aramis, needed this. He needed a way to let all of the pain and anger and fear inside of him out and he was looking to his Master to help him do that. Reaching between them, d’Artagnan unfastened his belt and pulled it free. He kept Aramis across his lap as he doubled the belt in his hand, knowing the position would help lessen the strength of the blows considerably. 

He repositioned his grip on Aramis’ bound wrists and pulled them up his back and out of the way, grimacing again at the strain it put on his injured hand. He pressed them down as hard as he could, holding him in place. “You will count them, as you did before,” d’Artagnan instructed, his voice only slightly strained. “I will tell you when I believe you have earned my forgiveness. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master,” Aramis said, trembling slightly. He had felt d’Artagnan remove his belt and knew that was what his Master intended to use on him. He had not been beaten in such a manner in quite some time. He had a feeling this time was going to be significantly different from anything he had endured in the past.

Pulling back his arm, d’Artagnan paused for a moment, then brought the belt whistling down on Aramis’ unprotected backside. The crack of leather against flesh was loud in the otherwise quiet room and d’Artagnan nearly jumped at the sound. A moment later he saw the flesh turn red as the first raised welt appeared on his Boy.

Aramis gasped as the sound of the belt striking him registered. A second later the pain rolled through him and he had to bite back a moan. Even like this, spread out over his Master’s lap, taking nowhere near the full force of his Master’s strength, he felt the blow more keenly than he ever had before. He did not know if it was the fact that it was d’Artagnan, his own contrition, or some combination of the two, but it made it feel as though the pain reached all the way to the very core of him.

“Count!” his Master ordered harshly, jerking Aramis from his thoughts.

“One,” Aramis gasped, his mind pulled firmly back in the here and now.

Aramis had barely gotten the word out before d’Artagnan struck again, raising another red welt on his backside. He laid the stripe down next to the first in a vertical line, as close as he could without overlapping. 

“Two,” Aramis counted, his voice strangled. This was a hundred times worse than the spanking his Master had given him before. This was worse even than what _they_ had done to him. He felt humiliation roil within him at the knowledge that he had done this, he had pushed his Master to this.

d’Artagnan raised his arm again and brought the belt crashing down once more. He winced as he laid another stripe across his lover’s flesh. He knew he was not harming him, that the damage was minor, would heal in but a matter of days. Still, it made him ache inside to know that he was the cause of the choked off sounds that came from Aramis’ throat as he counted out his punishment.

“Three,” Aramis moaned, the pain nearly swamping him for a moment. His ass felt like it was on fire. He felt no telltale wetness so knew his Master had not yet broken the skin. That would likely not come until he started overlapping the welts. 

d’Artagnan continued to rain down blows, not delivering the next strike until Aramis counted, even threatening to start over again if he continued to take so long. Aramis had hurried then, counting out blows four, five and six in quick succession.

When d’Artagnan laid down the seventh stripe, he knew it would be the last he could do without starting to overlap them. He did not want to do that, but he knew Aramis was not yet where he needed to be. He waited until Aramis had counted out number seven then raised his arm high. This time when the belt whistled down, he turned his arm, laying the stripe horizontally across the others. The result was considerably more than he had expected.

Aramis felt the lash strike across his backside, searing into the welts his Master had already laid down. He felt the blow a second before the pain, just long enough for him to realize it was coming, then he was arching up in his Master’s lap and crying out.

When he collapsed back down across d’Artagnan’s thighs, he began to cry. Unable to control himself, he sobbed as everything he had held inside of him for days, weeks even, came flooding out. He felt his Master maneuvering him, sliding him off of his lap and onto the bed on his side, then his arms were around him and his head was being pulled onto his Master’s chest as the man held him and rocked him through his tears.

“I’m so sorry,” Aramis gasped once he could get words out again. “I am so sorry, Master. Forgive me. Please, forgive me.”

“Shhh. Hush now, Boy. I do. I forgive you. I forgave you before we even started,” d’Artagnan told him as he held and soothed him through the worst of it.

“I do not deserve such forgiveness,” Aramis said, looking down in shame. “You have done everything for me. You tried to give your very soul for me and this is how I repay you. I am unworthy…”

“Be quiet, Boy,” d’Artagnan told him yet again. “You are mine. You belong to me and I do not care to hear my **property** spoken of in such a manner. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Master,” Aramis replied quietly. d’Artagnan’s words of ownership had settled something inside of him, pushing the loud, scared parts of him down, leaving only the quieter, peaceful parts at the forefront of his mind.

“Boy?” d’Artagnan called softly when he failed to say anything else. He had not missed the way he had stilled beside him, the fight seeming to have gone out of him. d’Artagnan rarely used such blatant words of ownership with Aramis. He was wondering now if that was, perhaps, a mistake. 

“Yes, Master?” Aramis replied, his voice soft and subdued, though very much there with him.

“Are you alright?” d’Artagnan asked.

“I am fine, Master,” Aramis replied. 

“Tell me what you are feeling,” d’Artagnan said, curious. He was used to his Boy being more boisterous. This was much more like Little One. d’Artagnan could tell, however, that this was still very much Boy he was dealing with.

“Peace, Master,” Aramis replied. “A sense of calmness. That I am… safe. And where I belong.”

“And do you like these feelings?” d’Artagnan asked, wanting to make sure.

“Oh yes,” Aramis assured him. “It is nice to have the… the roil inside of me quiet for once.”

“Then we shall keep you there until I decide it is time for you to return,” d’Artagnan told him. 

“I would like that,” Aramis said dreamily. “I would like that so much.”

“Very well then,” d’Artagnan said then thought for a moment. “Would it be easier for you to remain in this state if you had an outward sign of it to focus on?”

“Y-yes,” Aramis stammered, his heart suddenly in his throat. Surely his Master could not mean what he was saying. 

d’Artagnan sat up on his knees on the bed and helped Aramis do likewise. It was not easy with his arms still bound behind his back and his breeches pulled down, not to mention d’Artagnan’s own injured hand but they managed. Urging him up, d’Artagnan helped him to right his smalls and breeches then helped ease him back down, mindful of his tender backside. 

“My hands, Master?” Aramis asked, frowning slightly.

“Are staying as they are,” d’Artagnan told him. He had no intention of freeing his hands. He wanted him bound as he was, rendered all but helpless. He saw the surprise in his Boy’s eyes at that as well as the lust that quickly followed and smirked. 

Taking up the belt again, d’Artagnan was proud of the way Aramis tensed then forced himself to relax, trusting him and willing to submit to whatever his Master intended. It was a far cry from the horrible uncertainty of the past days and d’Artagnan relished it. 

“Bow your head,” d’Artagnan ordered, his voice firm and confident once more.

Aramis stared for a moment, licking his lips nervously, then did as his Master ordered, bowing his head. He closed his eyes, trying to quell the fine tremors that ran all through him. He still could not believe that this was happening. He would not allow himself to, not until it was a reality. And even then, he thought he might question his own sanity. 

d’Artagnan watched his Boy for long minutes as he knelt on the bed in front of him, head bowed, body shaking in anticipation and no small amount of fear. He had seen how much Aramis had wanted this the moment he had alluded to it. He had not meant for it to be a permanent thing, had only thought of it on the spur of the moment, but now, seeing this, he knew he would have to do something. Anything his Boy wanted this badly, d’Artagnan would move Heaven and earth to see that he got.

Ever so slowly, he placed the belt around his Boy’s neck. He tightened it until it was snug then marked it. He slid it back off, shushing Aramis when he mewled at the loss of it, and quickly grabbed his dagger from the floor to cut a notch in it. When he slid it back in place this time, he fastened it there and sat back to admire his work.

“Look up,” d’Artagnan told him, wanting to see what it looked like on his lover. He had fastened the leather with the buckle at the back of his neck so the rest of the belt would trail very much like a leash.

Aramis brought his head up slowly, relishing the feel of the leather tight against his throat. His Master had judged it well. It was snug but not too tight. He could breathe and swallow, though he would feel it every time he did the latter. The thought of that alone had him hardening in his breeches and he moaned softly.

“Beautiful,” d’Artagnan whispered before he could stop himself and glanced nervously at his Boy’s face to gauge his reaction.

“You truly think so?” he asked, not taking exception to the word for the first time since everything had happened.

“I have always thought so,” d’Artagnan told him. “But now, with my collar around your throat and my leash trailing from your neck, I find you near irresistible.”

“Master…” Aramis moaned, his cock throbbing at the man’s words.

“Does that excite you, Boy?” d’Artagnan purred, tugging on the length of leather that trailed from the makeshift collar. “Does the notion that I find you irresistible with my collar around your throat make you hard?”

“Oh God, yes, Master,” Aramis gasped as he tilted his head back, baring even more of his throat to his Master’s eyes.


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks Snow_Glory for all of your hand holding on this. S3 has made this soooo much harder to write. LOL.

Part 35

“I know I promised to be patient,” Constance said, her hands on her hips as he came through the door. “But I have my limits.”

“I know,” Treville replied, taking off his hat and hanging it on a peg by the door. 

She could see the fatigue on his face and her own eyes softened. She moved to him then, coming to a stop in front of him and batting his hands away from the clasps on his doublet. She kept her eyes on the fastenings she was working on, not daring to look up into his in that moment.

They had been dancing around this thing between them for weeks. Since long before her four Musketeers had come crashing back into her life. But in the last couple of weeks, since she had taken up residence here, in his home, things between them had begun to change. 

If he were any other man, he would have taken her to bed by now. Assuming, of course, she would have allowed such a thing. If she were any other woman, he probably would have made the attempt. But the fact that she was who she was stayed his hand and she did not think d’Artagnan was the reason. No, if she had to hazard a guess as to which of the four he thought he might be encroaching on, she would have to say Aramis. 

“You do realize,” she began as she undid the last of the fastenings and pushed the jacket from his shoulders, “that if Aramis were my lover, or anything approximating my lover, there is nothing you or Athos could have said that would have kept me from his side. Do you not?”

Treville paused at her words, trying to take in what it was she was telling him. He watched as she took his jacket and hung it beside his hat then came back around to stand in front of him again. “I… I would expect nothing less of you,” he said. 

“Then you understand that my desire to see him now is because I love him, yes, but not because I am in love with him,” she said bluntly. “He is not my lover. He never has been. He never will be. Even if I was so inclined, while d’Artagnan may have no issues with it, the same could not be said of his other two lovers and he would no more hurt those two men than I would. Nor would he ever do something he would consider so utterly disrespectful to d’Artagnan. Am I being clear enough here, Jean-Armand?”

“My dear, you could not be more clear if you hit me over the head with hit,” Treville said, chuckling.

“That was my next plan,” she told him, smiling fondly at him.

“You are a beautiful and vibrant woman, Constance,” he told her as he pulled her into his arms. “You deserve men like d’Artagnan and Aramis, men as bright and vibrant and young as you. Not an old reprobate like me.”

“I do believe that I should be allowed to judge what is best for me,” Constance told him. “I allowed a man to do my thinking for me once. I have no intention of ever doing so again.”

“My apologies, Madame. I did not mean to even suggest such a thing,” Treville told her. “You are far too intelligent to put up with such nonsense.”

“And you are far too wise to be acting so foolish,” she told him. “Now kiss me already before I start thinking you don’t really want me.”

“Believe me, Constance, that is something you never need worry of.”

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

“Come on,” d’Artagnan said as he climbed off the bed and helped Aramis off of it as well. He had to let go of the belt around his neck to help him off the bed, not wanting him to fall with his arms still bound behind him. Once he was steady again, though, he took it up and began leading Aramis toward the door.

Aramis kept his head bowed and followed his Master. He felt a momentary spike of fear at where they might be going but it was fleeting. He was in his Master’s hands. There was no safer place for him to be. He breathed deeply and felt the calm settle over him like a warm blanket. The horrible fear and uncertainty of the past days seemed so far away now. It felt as if a massive weight had finally been lifted from his chest and he could breathe again for the first time in what seemed like weeks. 

“Alright, Boy?” d’Artagnan asked as they stopped just outside of the sitting room. He knew Athos and Porthos were still waiting there and he wanted to make sure his Boy was still tucked up nice and safe, right where he needed to be, before they went in. 

“I am fine, Master,” he replied without raising his head. “I am…”

“Yes?” d’Artagnan urged when he failed to speak. He wanted to know as much as he could about what Aramis was feeling right now. He did not think they could endure yet another misstep.

“I am at peace,” Aramis told him, smiling softly. “It has been so long since I have felt such.”

“I am sorry I did not see to you sooner,” d’Artagnan told him. “I will not fail you so again.”

“You did not fail me, Master,” Aramis told him. “I… I do not know that we could have gotten here any sooner. I… I do not know if I would have been ready. Thank you for being patient with me.”

“You never have to thank me for that, Boy,” d’Artagnan told him. “I would wait for you until the end of time.”

“Master,” Aramis moaned and leaned into d’Artagnan. He pressed his head against his chest, seeking more contact. He wished his hands were free so he could wrap his arms around him, but that was not his Master’s desire. No, his Master wished to see him broken down and collared, as at his mercy on the outside as he was on the inside. Aramis would give him that and gladly.

“I know, Boy,” d’Artagnan said, continuing to address him as ‘Boy’. He wanted to keep him in this state for as long as possible, allowing Aramis the peace he had been missing so badly, and he had a few ideas on how to do just that. “As much as I wish we could simply return to our room so I might make use of you, I believe you owe your brothers an apology.”

Aramis gasped when d’Artagnan spoke of using him then flushed in shame at the reminder of his earlier behavior. He felt tears prick his eyes at the memory of trying to use his brothers just to hurt his Master. Suddenly, the pain in his backside did not seem anywhere near severe enough for what he had done.

“Boy?” d’Artagnan said, pulling back on the leash so that he could look at Aramis. He could see the flush staining his cheeks as well as the brightness in his eyes that still remained respectfully down. Unable to ignore his boy’s distress, he pulled him against him and rubbed his back. “You will make it right again. Won’t you, Boy?”

“Yes, Master,” Aramis sniffed, shuddering once as he fought to regain his control. “What would you have me do?”

“They are waiting in the sitting room,” d’Artagnan explained. “We shall join them and then you will apologize for your behavior, telling them exactly what you were doing and why. I will leave it to them if they demand more of you than that.”

“If they wi-wish me punished?” Aramis asked, unsure if he could actually take any more right now. His backside throbbed painfully in his breeches as it was. Even walking was slightly uncomfortable. If his brothers wanted him chastised…

“Then I will work out the particulars with them,” d’Artagnan told him. “You are in no condition to take any more today and I will not allow anyone to harm you. If they wish you punished then we shall work something out. Or they may be allowed to punish me in your place.”

“No!” Aramis gasped loudly, looking up at d’Artagnan for the first time since being led from the room. “Please, Master, not that. I will take whatever they wish me to. Right now, if necessary. Please, do not let…”

“Be quiet, Boy,” d’Artagnan said, gratified when Aramis stopped speaking at once. “I do not think our brothers would demand such a thing of either of us. But I will not allow you to be harmed, even if it means accepting the punishment in your place. You are precious to me, Boy. I will not fail to protect you again.”

d’Artagnan gave Aramis a few minutes to compose himself. He had not meant to upset him but he needed him to understand. He waited until he was calm again, once more settled back into the peaceful place inside himself where he could simply let go and allow his Master to lead him as he would.

When they finally entered the room, they found Athos and Porthos sitting side by side on the divan. They were holding hands as well, both obviously worried about their absent brothers. d’Artagnan led Aramis over to the center of the room, directly in front of the divan. He kept his hand on the belt trailing from Aramis’ neck and stepped back. He had told his Boy what was expected of him. It was up to him now.

Athos and Porthos both sat up when the pair walked into the room. The sight of them, both looking more relaxed and at peace than they had been in weeks, seemed totally incongruous with their outward appearance. For Aramis had his arms bound behind him and d’Artagnan’s belt wrapped around his throat, the end of it held tight by the Whelp like some sort of leash. The shallow cut Aramis had made on his shoulder was plain to see and both men were relieved that it appeared as minor as d’Artagnan had made it out to be. Still, the sight of Aramis, bound and _collared_ was outshining everything else at the moment.

d’Artagnan watched as Aramis continued to stand before his brothers. He frowned when he saw him twist his hands in his bonds and shift his weight from foot to foot. A second later, he realized the problem. Shaking his head at himself, he stepped closer to Aramis and gave the leash a sharp tug. “On your knees,” he said softly, pleased when Aramis relaxed once more and immediately complied. “Now, I believe you have some things to say to our brothers.”

“Yes, Master,” Aramis said, able to focus now that his Master had provided his direction once more. “I… I would like to apologize for my behavior, brothers.”

“Aramis, this is not…” Porthos began.

“Let him speak,” d’Artagnan said sharply, silencing Porthos. When he closed his mouth, he gave the leash another gentle tug. “Go on.”

“My brothers, I would like to apologize for my behavior,” Aramis began again. His eyes were on the floor as he knelt there before them, his breaths coming slow and easy even as the first sting of humiliation rose within him. “I… I tried to use you to… to hurt my Master. Not only was that cruel to him, but it was disrespectful to the two of you. You who have always shown me love and respect… you do not deserve to be _used_ as if your feelings are of no consequence. I… I am so sorry. It is no wonder you all think me a whore.”

“Boy,” d’Artagnan said, tugging gently on the lease. He stepped up behind him then and ran his fingers through his hair. “No one here thinks you a whore. No one.”

“Yes, Master,” Aramis said, unable to stop himself from leaning back into the caress. Taking a breath, he forced himself to concentrate on his brothers once more. “I will accept whatever punishment for my actions that you deem fit. I am so sorry that I hurt you both.”

“Aramis,” Athos said when Aramis finally fell silent. “You did not hurt us. And we have no intention of punishing you. We knew you were hurting. We did not know what had happened, only that something obviously had. It is alright, brother.”

“Yeah,” Porthos added. “We knew something was behind it, we just didn’t know what. But if it was what you needed, we weren’t going to turn you away. You didn’t hurt us, love. I’m just glad you didn’t hurt the Whelp.”

“Thank you,” Aramis whispered. His head was bowed, his chin tucked into his chest as he knelt before them. He stayed as he was, waiting for his Master to direct him once more.

d’Artagnan watched the silent tableau. He could see the relief in his brothers’ eyes along with the lingering worry. And in Athos’, he could see the desire as well. Apparently, Aramis bound and leashed did some very wicked things to dear Athos. Perhaps it was time to explore just what Boy wanted to share with his brothers. He had admitted to wanting them, after all. 

“Come, Boy,” d’Artagnan said, tugging on the leash like he would for a dog. He wanted to see the effect it would have on the others. He was not surprised when Porthos’ eyes narrowed but the unabashed lust in Athos’ was a bit more than he was expecting. 

d’Artagnan had expected Aramis to rise when he tugged the leash. He had not expected him to simply crawl along behind him on his knees, his bound hands making it even more awkward. Even he had to admit the sight of that was more than a little arousing. Such open submission so freely given was intoxicating and d’Artagnan felt as though he was drunk on it as he sat down in the chair opposite the divan and Aramis crawled over to kneel beside it. 

Even with his eyes practically glued to the floor, Aramis had not missed the effect his crawling on his knees had had on his Master. And Athos, as well. He was a bit surprised that Athos found it so stimulating, then realized he probably should not be. Athos found humiliation arousing, and while Aramis did not consider this overly humiliating, he understood that Athos probably did.

Athos wet his lips as he watched Aramis’ wanton display. He had been startled by how affected he was by all of this. Aramis’ submission was always a beautiful thing to behold, but this went far beyond anything they had witnessed before. To see Aramis in a collar, to see him so blatantly controlled, to the point where he crawled after d’Artagnan, made Athos’ cock harden in his breeches and he found himself wanting to see if Boy would be as equally pliant for him as he was d’Artagnan.

Porthos could tell the moment the atmosphere in the room shifted from worried apologies and forgiveness to something… else. He could feel the charge in the air, like lightning on a storm cloud. He was not blind. A single glance at Athos showed him the man was nearly panting with want for Aramis… for Boy. Porthos, however, was unsure. How much of this was what Aramis truly wanted and how much of it was Aramis’ indulgence of d’Artagnan’s whims in the hopes of appeasing him? He could not deny that the sight was arousing. A man like Aramis, strong and independent, on his knees was like some forbidden fruit, but he had to know that this was truly Aramis’ desire and not simply Aramis’ desire to please.

d’Artagnan gave his brothers a few minutes to let the situation sink in. He knew they were struggling, Porthos in particular. He would never be completely at ease with collars and leashes and words like ‘Master’. d’Artagnan was willing to take this slowly if that was what he needed, but he was not willing to allow his misgivings to deny Aramis something he wanted, needed, so badly.

Letting go of the end of the belt, d’Artagnan slipped his hand in Aramis’ hair and stroked. The resultant moan he pulled from Aramis made his cock throb in his breeches. “Do you still want them, Boy?” he asked without warning, feeling Aramis go still under his hand. 

“I…” Aramis began, then stopped. He had no idea how to answer. He did want them, but not if his Master did not want him to have them. He did not know how to articulate that without causing his brothers pain, though. 

“It is alright, Boy,” d’Artagnan told him, running his fingers through his hair soothingly. “I would not have asked you if I objected.”

“Oh,” Aramis sighed. He leaned toward d’Artagnan and let his head come to rest on his knee. He closed his eyes for a moment, relishing the feel of his Master’s fingers carding through his hair. He should have known his Master would not have asked such a thing if he had minded. He would never be so cruel as to put him in such a position intentionally. 

“Tell me, Boy. Do you still want them? Or are you not able to make that decision right now?” d’Artagnan asked, wondering if perhaps his Boy was too far down inside of himself to make such a choice. 

“No,” Aramis said, his head still pillowed on his Master’s knee. “I want them, Master, I do. But only if you wish me to have them. Or them to have me rather.” 

“I would give you everything your heart desires,” d’Artagnan told him. “But perhaps it would be wise to see if they want you as well.”

“They do,” Aramis smiled. He did not even need to look at his brothers to know that much. He had seen the desire in their eyes when he had glanced at them. 

“You going to take that thing off of him?” Porthos asked suddenly, interrupting them.

d’Artagnan quirked an eyebrow at him and tightened his grip in Aramis’ hair. He raised his head up off his leg and pulled back until his throat was stretched out and bared to them. “You mean this?” he said, nodding toward his belt wrapped around Aramis’ throat. “No, I am not because he does not want me to.”

“That true, Aramis?” Porthos asked, needing to hear it from the man himself. “You like that thing around your neck?”

“Yes, Sir,” Aramis replied, swallowing hard as d’Artagnan continued to hold his head back by his hair. 

“Fuck,” Porthos growled, low and dirty as Aramis’ words went straight to his cock. To hear Aramis call him ‘Sir’… he had never imagined it but the thrill it sent through him was impossible to deny. 

“I think he likes that, Boy,” d’Artagnan chuckled as he took in Porthos’ state. 

“Oh,” Aramis moaned again, helplessly aroused by the idea that his submission was pleasing not only his Master but his brothers as well. “Master, may I please them?”

“They will not go easy on you,” d’Artagnan warned. “Are you sure you feel up to it?” He was, of course, referring to the state of Aramis’ backside. He realized that this entire encounter could end up ruined once Porthos got a look at him but he was not going to hide this from the man.

“I am sure,” Aramis replied, understanding what his Master was referring to. “I am tender but you did not break the skin. I shall be fine.”

“Break the skin?” Porthos repeated warily.

“Stand up so I can strip you, Boy,” d’Artagnan ordered as he removed his hand from Aramis’ hair.

“My hands, Master…”

“Shall remain as they are,” d’Artagnan said. “Unless you are in pain or feel your arms start to cramp. If either of those happen, you are to tell me immediately. Otherwise, I prefer you bound.”

“Yes, Master,” Aramis said, his breath rushing out of him at the image in his head. That his Master still wanted him bound, virtually helpless as he was being used, sent a decadent thrill through him that seemed to shove him down even deeper inside of himself. He was but a vessel now for his Master’s use, to be done with as the man saw fit.

Once Aramis was in front of him, d’Artagnan unlaced his breeches and smalls and carefully eased them down over his ass and hips. He tried not to let the material drag over the welts on his backside, knowing they were still tender and painful. He could feel the heat of them as his hands passed near them and considered going to fetch one of Aramis’ salves for them but dismissed the idea as he helped Aramis step out of the garments and set them aside. That would be for later. They had other things to take care of right now.

When Aramis turned around he saw the look on Porthos’ face and narrowed his eyes menacingly. His brother got no farther than opening his mouth before Aramis snarled out, “Don’t.” He took a step forward, intent on protecting his Master from whatever threat might come but a gentle tug on the belt hanging down his back stopped him.

“Easy, Boy,” d’Artagnan said, pulling him back toward him by the leash. When Aramis was standing between his knees, d’Artagnan pulled down on the leash, bringing the man back to his knees. “That’s it. Just breathe. I am here and you are safe. Nothing can touch you here. Let yourself settle. All the way down now. That’s good. That’s good.”

d’Artagnan kept up the soft, slow stream of words until Aramis began to relax once more. He kept hold of the leash, keeping a light tension on it, making sure Aramis felt it. He had known Porthos would take exception to the marks left on Aramis, but he had not expected Boy to react quite so aggressively to it. He knew Aramis would protect him, he had done so before when Porthos had grown enraged over marks left upon him, but d’Artagnan had thought him too far down to do so now. Apparently, he had been wrong.

“If you are going to disturb the peace he has been able to find then we shall remove ourselves to our room,” d’Artagnan said without taking his eyes from Aramis. He wanted them to be able to have this encounter. He felt they needed it, all three of them, but not if it was going to disturb the sense of peace Aramis had finally been able to achieve for himself. 

“I don’t like to see him hurt,” Porthos grumbled.

“Neither do I,” d’Artagnan agreed. “But even you must admit the pain in his soul was a hundred times worse than anything I did here. He needed the release, Porthos, and I gave it to him. If you wish to have words with me about it later, that can be arranged.”

“Master…”

“Be quiet, Boy,” d’Artagnan said. His tone was gentle but Aramis snapped his mouth shut all the same. “Now, do you still want them?”

“If they still wish to have me,” Aramis answered, a bit unsure now if they would still want him. 

“Of course we still want you,” Athos said at once. “Porthos only worries for you, as do I. But it does not mean we do not want you. It will never mean that.”

“Boy?” d’Artagnan asked one final time, wanting to make sure.

“Please,” Aramis pleaded. He wanted them both so badly, both to make up for what he tried to do and simply to be with them like this. He had never been with anyone but his Master when he was so far down before and he wanted so badly to do so with them.

“Then you may please them,” d’Artagnan said. “They may use you in any way they wish. But they may not unbind your hands or remove your collar. Understood?”

“Yes, Master,” Aramis agreed, his cock growing heavy and thick between his legs.

“Then crawl to them,” d’Artagnan said releasing Aramis entirely as he sat back in the chair to watch. He squeezed his own hardening erection through his breeches, tamping down his arousal as best he could. He was not here for that. He was here to facilitate things with Boy and his brothers and to ensure that things did not get out of hand, especially with Boy down so far he doubted he could tell them no or even realize he needed to.

Aramis turned toward his Master and nudged his hand with his head. He placed a kiss upon his palm when he held it up for him then turned back toward his brothers on the divan. He crawled toward Athos on his knees, the acceptance in his eyes, making it easier. He could see how much he wanted him, how much seeing him like this was arousing him. 

As soon as Aramis was close enough, Athos reached out and fisted his hand in his hair. He pulled him forward roughly and kissed him hard and deep, making Aramis moan as he nearly fell forward onto Athos’ chest. With his free hand, he grabbed the end of the belt and tugged, earning a strangled gasp from Aramis that he swallowed down eagerly.

Pulling his mouth away, he looked over Aramis at Porthos. “I want his mouth,” Athos said, his voice rough with desire. “Do you want to fuck him?”

“Yes,” Porthos growled as he slid off the divan and moved up behind Aramis. He hesitated a moment then let his hands come to rest on his red and welted ass, causing Aramis to gasp and arch even as Athos yanked down on the belt, keeping him trapped between them.

“Any objections?” Athos asked, looking across to d’Artagnan.

“No,” d’Artagnan said. “Make sure you stretch him well. And go easy on those welts. I will keep an eye on things and intercede if it becomes necessary.”

That was enough for Athos. He took Aramis’ mouth in another searing kiss then released the belt to work on the fastenings of his breeches. He heard Porthos rummaging in the table beside the divan and knew he was looking for the oil. 

“Hold him up,” Athos said as he broke the kiss. He waited for Porthos to grab Aramis around the chest and stomach and pull him back against him, then he quickly undid his breeches and smallclothes and pulled them off. Once he was naked from the waist down, he moved forward and kissed Aramis yet again, gripped the belt in his hand before leaning back and taking Aramis with him.

Porthos cursed softly as he watched Athos bear their lover back down. He quickly unlaced his own clothes and shoved them down his hips, not bothering to take them off. Taking up the oil, he slicked his fingers liberally then spread Aramis’ cheeks, earning him a hiss when his hand brushed over one of the welts covering it.

Rubbing the oil up and down his cleft, Porthos paused for a moment at his hole then shoved his finger in to the hilt. He felt Aramis jerk, his body clenching down on him, his bound hands flexing as they tried to move. Porthos used his free hand to keep hold of Aramis’ hip, holding him still as he pressed his finger in deep, making his lover take it as he moaned and writhed around him.

“Fuck,” Athos panted as he pulled away from Aramis’ mouth. Aramis had practically screamed into his mouth when Porthos had breached him, his whole body going rigid. He cast a quick glance at d’Artagnan but the lad was making no move to stop them so Athos continued, kissing his way down Aramis’ neck and biting down hard.

“Please!” Aramis cried out when Athos bit down on his neck, the sensation rolling through him like a wave. Porthos finger inside of him felt huge and the way they were simply taking him, simply using him, as if he was nothing more than… than theirs was making his blood run hot and cold at the same time.

“Please what, slut?” Porthos snarled as he pulled his finger all the way out only to shove it in to the hilt again. “Please fuck you until you scream? We can do that. Can’t we, Athos?”

“Definitely,” Athos agreed. He pulled Aramis back by the hair again, loving the way his eyes darkened every time he did it. “I’m going to fuck your mouth. I’m going to shove my cock down your throat and fill your belly with my seed. And while I’m doing that, Porthos is going to fuck your ass until he spends in it. Does that meet with your approval, Boy?”

“Yes,” Aramis keened, his own cock was hard and leaking between his legs. “Yes, please, Sir. Use me. Use me however you wish. Please…”

“Oh, you little slut, I’m going to fuck you so hard,” Porthos told him as he pulled out his finger only to add more oil and then shove two back inside. The feel of Aramis clenching around him again, his body fighting the intrusion made Porthos hot all over. He had to fight the urge to yank his fingers free and just ram his cock inside. 

Hearing Porthos’ words and feeling Aramis writhing against him was more than Athos could withstand. Holding Aramis by the hair he guided him down to his aching cock. As soon as Aramis opened his mouth, Athos thrust up hard, burying himself to the hilt in the man’s mouth and nearly gagging him.

“You like that, don’t you?” Athos continued as he began to lazily fuck Aramis’ mouth. He kept one hand fisted in his hair and the other holding the end of the belt though he was careful not to pull too hard on it. “You like being plugged at both ends, your body used any way we wish, being made to take our cocks over and over again until we are sated and you are an exhausted, worn out mess.”

Aramis moaned around the cock in his mouth. He ran his tongue all along it as Athos continued to fuck him. His brother’s words made his cock ache and his bollocks tighten. He wanted that. He wanted that so badly. To be used by them, by all of them, to be their Boy. _Their Boy_. He would gladly take all they gave him, let them use his body any way they wished, as many times as they wished, again and again, until he could not move, could not breathe without the feel of them, the taste of them, if it meant he could have that, he could be **that**.

“Fuck, Athos,” Porthos said as he reamed Aramis with his fingers. He was rushing it, he knew, but he needed to get inside of him. His cock felt like it was ready to explode and he did not know how much longer he could wait. Aramis himself looked ready to spend and Porthos reached underneath him and squeezed his cock hard, hoping to stave off his pending orgasm for a while. 

“You don’t spend until we say you do,” Athos told him when he realized what Porthos was doing. “You are ours, Boy. Every part of you.”

Aramis moaned around Athos’ cock again, his words of ownership wrapping around him like a blanket. He knew the claim was secondary to his Master’s, of course. More importantly, he knew that Athos knew that, leaving him free to accept them for what they were and let them carry him down inside himself once more.

“Gonna fuck you now,” Porthos said as he pulled his fingers free. He poured some of the oil along Aramis’ cleft then covered his cock with it. He placed his cock at Aramis’ loosened hole and began to press forward. He could feel the muscles resisting him but he pushed a bit harder and the head of his cock slid inside, pulling a gasp from Porthos and a long, low moan from Aramis.

“Easy,” d’Artagnan cautioned from the chair a few feet away. He knew Porthos had not stretched his Boy enough but he also knew he could take it and would even welcome it to a certain degree. He was not going to sit by and watch him be hurt needlessly, though.

Porthos nodded and held himself still, giving Aramis a chance to adjust. He could feel his body clamping down on him and knew he had rushed things a bit. He kept one hand on his hip and wrapped the other around Aramis’ shoulder, holding him in place. Athos had ceased moving as well, giving Aramis a chance to settle once more.

When Porthos felt Aramis’ body relax around him, he nodded to Athos and began to push the rest of the way inside of him. Once he was fully seated, he held himself still again for a moment, giving Aramis a brief chance to adjust, then began to fuck him. Athos had begun to fuck his mouth again as well, and they soon found a rhythm between them that had Aramis moaning and keening as they buffeted him back and forth between them.

As their release neared both men began to move faster, they locked eyes over Aramis, each able to tell how close the other was. A quick glance at d’Artagnan showed he was paying close attention as well, though his focus was almost completely on Aramis. 

Unable to hold back any longer, Athos shoved himself in fully and began to spend. He used his grip on Aramis’ hair as well as the belt to hold him in place, his face pressed tight against his groin, as Athos spilled his seed down his eager throat. 

Watching Athos spend in Aramis’ mouth was enough to push Porthos over the edge as well. With a shout, he slammed forward, gripping Aramis’ hips tightly, unmindful of the welts and bruises already decorating them. He ground himself against Aramis’ backside roughly as he spent, making the man moan and shake as his raw, tender flesh was abraded even more. 

When they were both finally spent, they pulled back. Athos pulled himself from Aramis’ mouth first, careful to support him by letting him rest against his chest, his head on his shoulder. Once he was steady, Porthos pulled out as well, making Aramis wince as he did so. With Athos still holding him up, Porthos pressed up against his back and wrapped his arms around Aramis. 

Aramis’ moan of pain at the feel of Porthos pressing against his abused backside quickly morphed into a gasp of pleasure when one of those big hands wrapped around his cock and began to stroke. 

“Your turn,” Athos whispered in his ear as he held him. He could feel him shaking as Porthos moved his hand up and down his cock. He knew it would not take much to make Aramis spend as well. A few quick pulls of Porthos’ hand later and Athos was proven right as Aramis tensed all over and began to spend, his seed striping Athos’ own belly and groin.

They continued to hold him until he stopped shaking, Athos at his front and Porthos pressed against his back. Even then, they were reluctant to let him go, not wanting to disturb the closeness they had managed to achieve between the three of them. The only thing that was missing, it seemed, was their fourth.

“Unbind his hands,” d’Artagnan said from his place across the room. He could see how exhausted his Boy was and wanted him comfortable when he lay down to rest with his brothers. He would also have to take the collar off. He did not want to chance leaving it on while Aramis slept. Not this one. He would see about something more permanent as soon as he could, but this makeshift one was not safe to sleep in.

Porthos made quick work of undoing the rope at Aramis’ wrists and carefully brought his arms around in front of him once more. He and Athos still held him up, not sure how steady he was at that moment. They saw him glance at d’Artagnan and knew there was something he wanted but was hesitating. 

“What is it?” Athos asked after a moment. He did not know what Aramis might want but, whatever it was, he doubted if d’Artagnan would deny him it. d’Artagnan would give him the moon if he but knew how to do so.

“Master,” Aramis said hoarsely, his throat a bit sore after Athos. 

“I am here,” d’Artagnan smiled at him. “And you, my Boy, need to rest.”

“No, Master,” Aramis shook his head. “I… I would… May I pleasure you?” He looked down then, blushing. He had not meant to contradict his Master but he could not stand the thought of giving the others pleasure, of taking pleasure himself, but not pleasing his Master.

“That is not necessary,” d’Artagnan said, shaking his head. “I do not…”

“Whelp,” Porthos stopped him. “Even I can see he needs to do this.”

“Is that right, Boy?” d’Artagnan asked, smiling softly at him. “Do you need to serve me?”

“Yes, Master,” Aramis said, grateful that they all seemed to understand.

“Then come to me,” d’Artagnan told him. “And you may please me any way you wish to.”

Aramis carefully moved onto his hands and knees and crawled the short distance to his Master. Once there, he settled between his legs and sat back on his heels so he could look up at him. “I love you, Master,” he said solemnly. 

“I love you, too, Beautiful Boy,” d’Artagnan replied.

“May I suck you?” Aramis asked.

“Yes,” d’Artagnan said. He carded one hand in Aramis’ hair and took up the length of belt with the other, much the way Athos had done. He waited patiently as Aramis unlaced his breeches and pulled him out and groaned softly when he felt his boy place a soft kiss on the head of his cock.

Leaning his head back, d’Artagnan closed his eyes as Aramis opened his mouth and took him inside. He was still aroused but his ardor had had time to cool giving his Boy some time to work before he was in danger of spending. With his eyes closed and his concentration focused on Aramis, d’Artagnan was taken by surprised when Athos and Porthos settled on either side of the chair.

“What?” he gasped and stared to sit up, worried.

“Easy, lad,” Porthos said, pushing him back into the seat. “It’s just us. No need to fear.” He took d’Artagnan’s hand from Aramis’ hair and began to kiss the back of it tenderly, then slowly kissed his way up his arm.

Athos had replaced d’Artagnan’s hand with his own on the back of Aramis’ head, using it to guide the man’s movements up and down on their youngest as he leaned forward and kissed the back of the hand holding onto Aramis’ leash. Unlike Porthos, he did not try to get him to relinquish his hold, knowing that d’Artagnan needed that connection with Aramis as much as Aramis himself did.

When Porthos reached d’Artagnan’s shoulder he began to kiss along it until he got to the lad’s neck. He began to cover it with sucking kisses, knowing how much d’Artagnan liked that, until the other man was gasping aloud at the various sensations. 

Athos, his hand still guiding Aramis’ movements, had kissed his way along d’Artagnan’s stomach and chest, pushing his shirt up and out of the way, until he reached a pebbled nipple and began to bite and suck at it.

d’Artagnan moaned and arched into their touches. He felt completely undone. He had never had so many hands upon him, so many careful, loving touches at once and he did not know how to deal with it all. This was supposed to be for Aramis, for his brothers. Not for him. 

“Easy,” Porthos whispered as he felt the Whelp start to shake harder between the three of them. “Easy, love. We’re here. We have you. Just let go.”

“Let go, d’Artagnan,” Athos echoed as he released his nipple to move up next to his other ear. He pushed Aramis’ head down harder, making him take d’Artagnan to the hilt and holding him there.

Unable to withstand any more of their combined assault, d’Artagnan cried out as he thrust up hard and began to spend down his Boy’s throat just as Athos had done. He could feel Athos holding Aramis’ head in place, making him keep his cock buried to the hilt and it only made him pulse harder as he shook between them.

Spent, he collapsed back into the chair, panting hard. Athos removed his hand from the back of Aramis’ head and gently pulled him off d’Artagnan’s spent cock. He and Porthos maneuvered him so that he was lying against his Master and d’Artagnan immediately wrapped his arms around him, holding him close.

“Just hold onto him for a few minutes,” Porthos told him. “Me and Athos will get the room ready then we’ll be back for you.”

d’Artagnan nodded once, his arms tightening around Aramis the tiniest bit more as he watched his brothers rise and head toward their shared room. When they came back a few minutes later, they were exactly as they had been and both men smiled down at them as they helped first Aramis to his feet then d’Artagnan. 

Aramis had made a soft, broken sound when d’Artagnan had taken his collar but he had shushed him and promised to give it back as soon as they got up. He had told him that he did not think it safe to sleep in. Aramis had argued that it would be fine right up until d’Artagnan had pointed out that he doubted if he would be able to get much sleep worrying about it. That had been enough and Aramis had let d’Artagnan take it off without further fuss. d’Artagnan had kissed him then and promised to come up with a better solution as they drifted off to sleep.

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

Aramis awoke to find d’Artagnan propped up on one arm looking down at him. He smiled up at the other man, the first smile of genuine happiness that he had directed toward the other man in what felt like forever. “Good morning,” Aramis said softly, not wanting to disturb their sleeping companions.

“Good morning,” d’Artagnan replied, equally quiet. He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss to Aramis’ lips and felt another of the bands around his heart loosen when the man eagerly accepted it. He had not realized that, even now, he remained somewhat fearful of Aramis’ rejection. It was only natural, he supposed. It would take time to undo the damage done and he was not known for trusting easily, not where his heart was concerned.

“You are troubled?” Aramis asked, seeing the emotions flitting through his lover’s eyes. They changed too quickly for him to be certain of any one of them, but they worried him all the same.

“No,” d’Artagnan shook his head. “I am… cautious. Nothing more.”

“I am so sorry,” Aramis said, starting to look away.

“Hey,” d’Artagnan called, stopping him and shaking his head. “None of that. I am the one who is sorry. Being cautious is my way. I cannot help it.”

“But you would not feel the need if I had not…”

“Been in so much pain you knew no other way to handle it?” d’Artagnan finished for him. “And if I had not failed you in the first place, none of this would have happened.”

“You… you did not fail me, d’Artagnan,” Aramis said incredulously. “What… how can you even say that?”

“Because it is true,” d’Artagnan replied. “I let her get her hands on you. And I did nothing to stop her from hurting you.”

“You did everything you could,” Aramis said, growing angry. “Do you think I do not remember? My mind may have been clouded at first, but I assure you, it is not now. I did not mean to act as though I blamed you. I truly did not.”

“You should listen to him, Whelp,” Porthos said from the other side of Aramis, his eyes cracking open.

“Sorry,” d’Artagnan said contritely. “We did not mean to wake you.”

“Be that as it may,” Athos added, letting them know that he, too, was awake. “Porthos is correct. You should heed Aramis’ words in this. You did not fail him, d’Artagnan. You are not to blame here. In fact, the only one to blame no longer has a head.”

“Agreed,” Porthos said. 

“I should have done more,” d’Artagnan argued, though most of the fight had gone out of him.

“What more could you have possibly done?” Aramis asked. “You gave me the strength to go on, to hold onto myself until Athos came for us. Knowing you and Porthos were there, while I would have much preferred you somewhere safe, was the only thing that kept me sane.”

d’Artagnan pulled Aramis onto his side and into his arms. He rested his forehead against the other man’s and held him. “I would have gladly taken your place,” he whispered. “I would have endured any of that… all of it, if it would have meant you were spared it. I wish you would have let me.”

“Oh, love, I could not,” Aramis told him. “This… this was only pain. And yes, I will bear these scars, these… marks for the rest of my days, but even that is preferable to watching you be hurt, much less being the one to inflict such pain. Do you not understand what that would have done to me? It would have broken me utterly, d’Artagnan. Broken me in ways I would never have recovered from.”

They stayed like that for awhile, d’Artagnan holding Aramis to him with Athos and Porthos bracketing the pair of them. The two looked at each other over their charges’ heads and nodded. They had both needed this, to talk, to tell each other of the pain they had been carrying inside of themselves for weeks now. 

Athos had known d’Artagnan blamed himself. The lad had told him as much. He had tried to convince him that it was not his fault, that he had done everything he could have and much more than he should have to protect Aramis. d’Artagnan, however, felt differently. Athos had to wonder how much of that was d’Artagnan’s natural protective streak and how much of that was due to the rather special relationship he shared with Aramis. 

As he thought about it more, Athos grimaced, ashamed of where his thoughts had led him. No matter what his relationship with Aramis, d’Artagnan was their brother. And he was their brother first. That was what had driven him to protect Aramis so ferociously. It is what would drive him to protect himself or Porthos should one of them fall into enemy hands. But God help them all if anyone ever tried to force d’Artagnan to choose as they had Aramis. For Athos knew his boy would cut through those fools like an avenging angel sent from God Himself. 

Hunger finally drove them from the bed and the four of them dressed and went to the kitchen. Aramis eyed the belt lying on the bedside table longingly, but did not ask d’Artagnan to put it on him. He knew it was impractical to desire such a thing. Not only that, but he doubted if his young Master was prepared to take on even more responsibility where he was concerned. This had been a heavy enough burden on him as it was. Aramis had no intention of making it worse.

In the kitchen, Athos and Porthos worked together to prepare their morning meal under d’Artagnan’s watchful eye. D’Artagnan had to admit they were becoming much more comfortable in the kitchen. At least he would no longer have to worry about the three of them starving to death if something should happen to him.

Once breakfast was over, Aramis checked the wrapping on d’Artagnan’s hand. He made sure it was not too tight, that the fingers were getting sufficient blood flow and that everything was healing as it should. Satisfied, he wrapped it once more and advised their youngest to try to use it as little as possible.

“I shall do my utmost,” d’Artagnan told him.

Aramis was about to reply when the sound of riders approaching made all of them tense. They knew it was probably just Treville come to check on them again, but the fact that he was not alone made them nervous. Grabbing their weapons from the wall, they quickly slipped them on. This time, d’Artagnan and Aramis waited just inside while Athos and Porthos walked out to greet their visitors.

Both men relaxed when Treville rode up with Father Michel. Athos did not know why the notion of unexpected visitors put them all so on edge. Perhaps it was simply the fact that Aramis was finally starting to recover and they did not want to chance anything interfering with that. Regardless, these men were indeed quite welcome. Athos thought Aramis would find Father Michel’s visit very beneficial.

“I see you gentlemen are still being… vigilant,” Treville observed as the two men dismounted.

“We are cautious men where those things we treasure most are concerned,” Athos replied.

Porthos chuckled as d’Artagnan and Aramis came outside to greet them as well. d’Artagnan went to take their horses, while Aramis greeted the priest and they showed both men into the house. As Aramis led Father Michel on through to the library, Athos stopped Treville in the kitchen. With Aramis otherwise occupied, it would be a good time to discuss those things they did not want to mention to him as of yet and none of them wanted to take a chance on him overhearing.

“Something going on you boys want to tell me about?” Treville asked as he sat down at the table.

d’Artagnan grabbed a bottle of wine and four glasses as he joined them and poured them all a drink. He hesitated a moment, then decided to simply come out with it. He had a feeling the Captain would understand. “I need to get a brand made,” d’Artagnan told him. “Any suggestions on who I might see?”

“A brand,” Treville repeated.

“Yes,” Athos replied before d’Artagnan could. “Of our crest. I have come up with a few ideas. I am sure we can settle on one between the three of us that should be able to be crafted with ease.”

“And you need this for?” Treville asked, though he already knew the answer.

“Aramis,” d’Artagnan answered.

“Do you truly think this the best thing to do?” Treville asked kindly.

“Physically, no,” d’Artagnan admitted. “It is wounding him yet again and on top of a wound that is barely healed at that. Emotionally, however, it is the only thing to do. He has managed to accept it at last, I think. But he will always feel its weight upon him. He will always feel as though he is marked by her. I will not see him spend the rest of his life shackled to that demon.”

“No, if I were in your place I do not believe I could stand such a thing either,” Treville admitted. “If you like, the smith at the garrison should be able to do it for you with considerably less questions asked.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Athos said. “Your continued support is… “

“You boys are as close to sons as I am likely to have,” Treville told him, flushing slightly at the admission. “If there is anything I can do to make this easier on you then I am glad to. Porthos, you’ve been awful quiet. Is there something on your mind?”

“No,” Porthos replied, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“I take it you do not care for the solution d’Artagnan has come up with?”

“How did you know it was the Whelp’s idea?” Porthos asked stalling.

“Are you quite sure you want me to answer that?”

“Yeah,” Porthos said, frowning. 

“I knew it was d’Artagnan’s idea because of the three of you, he alone considers Aramis’ well-being his duty,” Treville explained. “Do not misunderstand me, I know you and Athos are as concerned for Aramis as he is. But you do not feel it is your responsibility to see him through this. Not the way d’Artagnan does. That has been obvious since that first night at Constance’s house.

“So I ask you again, do you have a problem with d’Artagnan’s idea?” Treville pressed.

“Yeah,” Porthos admitted. “I don’t like it. I don’t like the idea of hurting him, causing him more pain. But I get it. I know Aramis needs it. And it’s not like we’re going to make him. He gets the final say on whether or not he wants to go through with it.”

“I understand your misgivings,” Treville said. “I have many of the same. But I understand what d’Artagnan is trying to do as well. I think it is probably the best answer to an untenable situation.”

“Yes,” Athos agreed. He reached across the table and took d’Artagnan’s hand, squeezing it. He understood Porthos’ worries but he agreed with d’Artagnan in this.

“Alright then,” Treville said. “Athos, why don’t you show us these designs you’ve come up with and we can see if any of them will work for an actual brand.”

Athos nodded and went to get the sketches he had done. He had come up with three different variations, though they all revolved around a central theme. He had thought long and hard about each of them and then the four of them as a collective whole. What he had ended up deciding was that the brand needed to reflect both Aramis’ utter faith in his God as well as something that encompassed what they, as a family, stood for. 

In the end, Athos had chosen the Musketeer symbol, the fleur-de-lis, as the symbol to represent the four of them as a whole. He had incorporated it into a cross, using it to embellish it in various ways. He ended up with three choices, one of which he preferred, but he wanted to let his brothers give their opinions as well.

The first was a simple cross with a fleur-de-lis in the center. It would be the easiest brand to create but it would cover the one on Aramis’ shoulder the least. Of the three of them, Athos liked it the least, but he thought Porthos might like it as it was the simplest and would probably be the least painful for Aramis.

The second was a bit more elaborate. It was another cross, with a fleur-de-lis at each point on the cross. It was simple and clean and would cover more of the current brand they were trying to eliminate but again it would not cover it completely.

The third and final one was the one Athos preferred. It was also the most elaborate of the three. It was a smaller cross in the center. It had a larger fleur-de-lis at each point, one to represent each of the four of them, and the bottom of the four fleur-de-lis encircled the cross, seemingly protecting it. Athos felt it was the most symbolic of the three and it would cover the current brand entirely. 

“So, what do you think?” Athos asked, looking at d’Artagnan and Porthos expectantly.

“I know which one I like the best,” d’Artagnan said. “Porthos, what about you?”

“You want me to go first?” Porthos asked.

“Yes,” d’Artagnan replied with a nod. “I know you have the most misgivings about this so I’d like to know which one you would prefer before Athos and I say anything.”

“Alright,” Porthos said. He paused for a moment to take a breath before offering his reasoning. “I know the first one would hurt him the least and that’s important to me. But I also know that’s not what’s going to be important to him. What he’s going to care about is covering that thing up and putting something… something meaningful in its place. And if I’m picking the one that’s the most meaningful that would the this one.” 

He was holding out the third one.

When Porthos looked at Athos and d’Artagnan, both of them were smiling back at him and nodding. “Agreed,” they both replied. 

“Are you planning on showing this to Aramis before you have it made?” Treville asked, rather proud of his men for being able to put their own feelings aside and give their brother what they knew he needed.

“No,” d’Artagnan said. “We aren’t telling him anything until the brand is ready. We don’t want to get his hopes up in case anything goes wrong.”

“And if we tell him ahead of time, it will only give him time to worry,” Athos added. 

“And worry about us and how we might feel about doing it,” Porthos put in. “If he thinks it’s going to hurt one of us to do it, he won’t go through with it.”

“No, Aramis would wear that mark forever before he would hurt one of you to be rid of it,” Treville agreed. “Do you boys want me to see about getting this made for you?”

“No,” d’Artagnan told him. “I have some others things I need to take care of and I thought I would pick up some clothes and things for us from the house. If you don’t mind me tagging along back to Paris when you go, that is.”

“Not at all,” Treville said. “Constance will be thrilled to see you. Which reminds me, she is getting somewhat anxious to see Aramis, gentlemen. I do not know how much longer I can stall her.”

“Right,” Porthos said sourly.

Treville threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, Porthos, please do make that face in front of her. I would dearly love to see someone else get that particular lecture.”

“What lecture would that be?” Athos asked.

“The one about the fact that she and Aramis are most definitely not lovers, have never been lovers, and have no intention of ever being lovers as neither of them are so crass as to treat d’Artagnan in such a manner let alone the two of you,” Treville explained. 

“Took you to task, did she?” d’Artagnan grinned.

“Quite,” Treville replied. “But she made her point. She wants to see him, boys. She’s worried sick about him. I’ve told her he’s doing better but she won’t rest easy until she’s seen it with her own eyes. Just think about it, alright?”

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

“So Aramis, how have you been?” Michel asked as they sat down on the sofa in the library. He was pleased to see that the young man was looking much better than the last time he had seen him.

“I have been better, Father,” Aramis replied with a bit of a grin, “but I am getting there. It has not been easy, these past days.”

“Talk to me, my friend,” Michel said. “I can see that you are better, but I can also see that you are still troubled.”

“I am better. My brothers have done so much to help me, have stuck by me when…” Aramis trailed off for a moment then seemed to gather himself. “I still feel so unclean, Michel. I know I must learn to accept it, but will her taint never leave me?”

“Aramis, son, you are not tainted,” Michel told him. “But first things first, would you like to make Confession?”

“Yes. Yes, Father, I would like that very much,” Aramis said eagerly. Aramis began the familiar litany then told Michel of all he had done these past days. He told him of how he had acted, especially toward d’Artagnan, of taking his anger and pain out on the other man, he blushed hotly as he told him of trying to seduce his brothers for no other reason than to hurt d’Artagnan, he told him of being purposefully cruel time and again.

“I do not know why he did not simply wash his hands of me,” Aramis said once he was finished.

“Because he loves you very dearly and knew it was your pain making you act in such a way, not your true feelings for him,” Michel said.

“I blamed him,” Aramis admitted, ashamed of himself. “I blamed him for what happened to me. I don’t know why, but I did.”

“Don’t you?” Michel challenged. He saw the surprise in Aramis’ eyes at that and decided to try a different approach. “Tell me about your relationship with d’Artagnan. In detail.”

Aramis hesitated. He was not sure what to say. As understanding as Michel was, his relationship with d’Artagnan was still considered a mortal sin, an abomination, by the church. He did not want to end up losing his friend.

“Aramis, you have no need to fear,” Michel told him, seeing the worry in his eyes. “Before I met you, I would have said that such relations between men were wrong, were a sin, but I would have been the one that was wrong. You have shown me that. For I cannot find love as strong and pure as the love you have for these men as anything other than God-given. And I am not in the habit of questioning God.

“Now, tell me about your relationship with young d’Artagnan. If I am to help you, then I need to understand what it is I am trying to help you with.”

“Alright,” Aramis said, trusting Michel to be as good as his word in this. “First and foremost, we are brothers. That is the heart of all of us. That will never change regardless of what else might. We will never forsake the brotherhood that is between us. Even when I was spewing vitriol at him, he was still my brother.

“We are lovers next,” Aramis continued. “Though our relationship has taken a rather unique twist.”

“How so?” Michel asked when Aramis hesitated.

“He is my Master,” Aramis stated, holding his breath as he waited for the priest’s reaction.

“I see,” Michel said, his brow creased in worry. “I… This is… something you want?”

“Yes,” Aramis told him at once. “It is, very much so. And I am free to end it at any time I wish to. d’Artagnan does not hold me to him against my will. In fact, he goes to great lengths to ensure that everything he does is something I genuinely want for my own sake.”

“And the others? How do they feel about this?” Michel asked. It was a bit hard to believe that his other lovers, as protective as they seemed, would condone such a thing.

“They have their misgivings, mostly Porthos,” Aramis explained. “And there have been some small problems here and there. Porthos does not like it when d’Artagnan disciplines me. And before you ask, both times have been at my request and he has reluctantly complied because he knew it was what I needed at the time.”

“Please do not take this wrong, my friend, but I would be remiss if I did not ask you,” Michel said a bit hesitantly. He waited for Aramis to nod then continued. “Is d’Artagnan abusing you in any way?”

“No, Michel,” Aramis told him earnestly. “No. Do you truly think the others would allow such a thing? Believe me, I have been abused before. I am well aware of the difference. d’Artagnan cherishes me.”

“Alright,” Michel said, satisfied for the time being. “Then if all of this is true, why do you think you blame him for what was done to you? Is there something more he could have done to protect you in that place?”

Aramis shuddered. “God, no,” he said. “He…”

“He what?” Michel prompted.

“He begged me to hurt him instead of myself,” Aramis admitted, his voice strained with emotion at the memory. “He begged me to let him take the pain, but I was the one that refused. He even… even tried to get her to take him in my place. He tried… oh God, Michel, he tried to trade his very soul for me.”

“And yet you blame him. Aramis, do you even understand what it is you blame him for?” Michel asked.

“He… he made me feel unworthy,” Aramis replied softly as if coming to an epiphany.

“Yes, he rather did,” Michel agreed. “He did not mean to, of course. He was trying to protect you any way he could. But his willingness to sacrifice himself, his pain, his body, his very soul for your sake has left you feeling unworthy of his devotion. And that is why you sought to punish him.”

They spent the next few hours talking about various aspects of Aramis’ recovery. They talked a bit more of d’Artagnan, but Michel tried to stay away from the subject, wanting to allow Aramis time to think about it. The spent a good deal more time discussing Aramis’ continued feelings of being unclean and Michel offered to bring the items necessary to allow Aramis to take Communion the next time he came out if Aramis had not made it into the city before then.

It was on the tip of Michel’s tongue to suggest that perhaps Aramis might consider a different career once he had fully recovered. Michel could see the visible toll this had taken on the young man and he did not mean the scars upon his face. He knew, however, that he would never leave his brothers’ sides. If they chose to remain Musketeers, then Aramis would remain a Musketeer. Even if it killed him.

When they finally emerged from the library, it was to find Treville in the kitchen with Athos and Porthos as d’Artagnan gathered his things, preparing to leave. “What is going on?” Aramis asked, worried that something had happened that he was unaware of.

“Nothing is wrong,” d’Artagnan said at once, hearing the worry in his lover’s voice. “I have an errand I need to run in the city and I wanted to pick up some clothes and things for us all from the house. That’s all.”

“But…” Aramis began.

“Aramis,” d’Artagnan said, going to him and pulling him into his arms. “Nothing is wrong. I will be gone overnight. No longer. I am running and errand and picking up supplies. Nothing else. I swear it.”

“I am sorry,” Aramis said, burying his head in the side of his lover’s neck. 

“Do not apologize for not wanting me to leave,” d’Artagnan told him. 

“I don’t like you traveling alone,” Aramis said, pulling back with a frown.

“I’ll be with the Captain and Father Michel,” d’Artagnan pointed out.

“Not on the return trip,” Aramis argued.

“It will be full daylight and only a few hours ride,” d’Artagnan said. “I will be fine. I promise.”


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Snow_Glory for all of the wonderful ideas for this...

Part 36

The ride back to Paris went by quickly. Once they saw Father Michel safely back to Saint-Severin, Treville and d’Artagnan headed toward the garrison. Knowing he needed to explain a few things to the young man before he discovered them on his own, Treville suggested they stop at an inn along the way.

As d’Artagnan sat across the table looking at his Captain, he could tell something was not right. He clearly had something he wanted to discuss and appeared somewhat hesitant about doing so. It made d’Artagnan nervous as he wondered what it was that could possibly disconcert this man so.

“Whatever it is, Sir, you can tell me,” d’Artagnan said when Treville failed to speak. “After everything we have been through, I doubt you can shock me.”

“I am not worried about shocking you, d’Artagnan,” Treville sighed.

“Then what are you worried about?” d’Artagnan asked.

Treville looked down at his wine then took a long drink. He knew he had to explain. Fortune favored the brave, after all. “I have no desire to duel you, lad,” he said after a moment.

“Duel me?” d’Artagnan scoffed. “Why would you have to do that?”

“Because although your home is repaired, and has been for some time now, Constance is still staying with me.”

“I see,” d’Artagnan said carefully as he tried to take in just it was Treville was actually telling him.

“You are not pleased,” Treville observed dispiritedly.

“I did not say that,” d’Artagnan told him. He had not missed the sadness in the man’s voice and sought to relieve it. “I am somewhat surprised. I had not realized you were lovers.”

“We aren’t,” Treville said. At d’Artagnan’s questioning look he continued. “We are taking things slowly. I was, until recently, unsure of the exact nature of her relationship with Aramis and I had no wish to trespass as it were.”

“I take it she set you straight in that regard?”

“Quite,” Treville said then asked the question that was plaguing him the most. “Are you certain you have no objections to this, d’Artagnan?”

“It is not my place to tell Constance how to live her life,” d’Artagnan replied.

“You are her family,” Treville reasoned. “It is entirely your place. And that was not what I asked you.”

“If you are asking if I have some objection to you, the answer is no. As long as it is what she wants, as long as you treat her well, you will find no censure from me.”

“And Aramis?” Treville asked baldly. He was quite aware that getting d’Artagnan’s approval was only half the battle.

d’Artagnan looked at him askance, trying to decide how to phrase his reply. “I thought you said she explained this to you,” he finally said.

“Just because they are not lovers does not mean Aramis would be willing to allow just anyone into her life,” Treville offered.

“Aramis would not be foolish enough to try to limit her in such a way, but I understand your concern. I do not think it is a necessary one, though. As I said, treat her as she deserves and you will not have any problems with us.”

They finished their wine and continued on to the garrison. With the Captain’s help, d’Artagnan was able to explain to the smith what he needed. It would take a few days but the man assured him he would have no trouble crafting it. That done, d’Artagnan decided to head to the market. He had some other items he wanted to procure and hoped to be able to take them with him when he returned home the following day. 

He had told Treville he would meet him at his home later that evening. He wanted to have some few minutes to speak with Constance alone before the Captain got there. It was not that he did not believe that this was what Constance wanted, but he needed to hear it for himself.

d’Artagnan picked his way through the crowded market, weaving his way around people as he sought a particular craftsman. He had seen some of the man’s work before but had never thought to purchase any himself. Now, though, he had Little One to think of. If that meant pushing his embarrassment aside then so be it.

He found the small shop nestled at the end of a crowded lane and slipped inside. There was another couple looking about at the wares and d’Artagnan felt his face heat as he quickly turned away to scan the small display before him. As luck would have it, this particular display carried exactly what d’Artagnan had come there for.

Ignoring everyone else, he bent down and examined the array of goods before him. The display was modest and simple, showing off the leather collars to daring effect. They were arranged by size, starting from the very narrow, which d’Artagnan assumed would be for a woman, to those wide enough to restrict the wearer’s movement. 

d’Artagnan finally narrowed it down to two of them. Both were about two inches wide and both had sturdy buckles in the back to lock them in place. One of them was black with a fleur-de-lis stamped into it. The other was brown, the same brown as Aramis’ leathers. It was the one d’Artagnan preferred though he liked the detail of the other one.

“Can I help you, sir?” the shopkeeper asked, coming over to stand beside the display case.

“Ah, yes,” d’Artagnan stammered a bit. “I am looking for a collar.”

“Well we have quite a selection as you can see,” the man said without batting an eye. “From the size of the ones you are admiring am I to assume it is for…”

“Another man, yes,” d’Artagnan confirmed. This man did not know him and he was not wearing anything to identify him as a Musketeer. He felt safe enough in speaking at least somewhat freely.

“Excellent,” the man said. “Is there one of these you particularly like?”

“I prefer the brown,” d’Artagnan replied, “but I like the embellishment of the black as well.”

“Well, if you can give me a bit of time, I could modify the brown one for you,” the shopkeeper offered. “Is it the same design you wish or something else?”

“I… I am not sure,” d’Artagnan admitted. “How long would you need?”

“If it isn’t too complicated, I could probably have it ready by tomorrow morning.”

“Give me a few moments to think on it,” d’Artagnan said, turning the idea over in his mind. He did like the fleur-de-lis, but he was not sure if it was what he wanted to see etched into Aramis’ collar. It did not feel… right.

“Marisol, stop that,” said a voice behind d’Artagnan causing him to stiffen. He remembered that voice. It was the man from the tavern, the one he had thought responsible for hurting Aramis. More importantly, however, he remembered that name. _Marisol_. That was the name Aramis had cried out back at the maison. That was the name of the woman who had hurt him.

It took everything in d’Artagnan to casually turn to the side, just enough so he could get a good look at the pair of them. He was not sure if the man would remember him so did not want to reveal too much of his face. He was glad now that he had not introduced himself to the shopkeeper.

It was indeed the man from the tavern. He let his eyes scan him quickly before moving on to the woman. He took in as much about her as he could without letting on that he was watching them. She was a tall woman, almost as tall as Aramis, and striking with dark hair and ice colored eyes. d’Artagnan could easily understand the attraction such a woman would hold for Aramis. 

Not daring to give himself away, he forced himself to turn back to the display case. He had not missed the necklace that hung around the woman’s neck, however. The necklace that looked surprisingly like the rosary Aramis always wore. He forced himself to shove those thoughts to the back of his mind for now, knowing he would go over them again later with his brothers. Now, he had something much more important to see to.

It took some few minutes for the shopkeeper to see to the couple and them to leave the shop. Once they were alone, he came back over to see if d’Artagnan had decided yet. “That man,” d’Artagnan said when the man came over. “Pierre, isn’t it. I hear he is a merchant as well but I have yet to find his shop.”

“Oh, Monsieur Champney,” the shopkeeper replied. “He is more of an importer than a merchant. That’s probably why. He imports silks and sells them to the other merchants.”

“Of course,” d’Artagnan said. “I have a friend who is interested in striking a business arrangement with him. I wish I would have said something to him before he left now. Do you know where I might call upon him later?”

“Certainly,” he replied. “He lives on Rue Le Pince. Big manor house near the end. You can’t miss it.”

“Wonderful. I must remember, as well, to ask his wife where she came across her necklace. It was quite lovely.”

“Good luck with that,” the man chuckled. “I have tried to ask her before. All she would ever say is that she got it from a Musketeer.”

“Thank you, friend,” d’Artagnan told him sincerely. “You have been most helpful. Now, about the design I have in mind...”

Once d’Artagnan finished with the shopkeeper, with the promise that the items he wanted would be ready for him first thing in the morning, he headed to Treville’s residence. He knew he likely had a couple of hours before the Captain tore himself away from the garrison. Unless, of course, he became concerned about what he and Constance might discuss, in which case he could decide to come home early. 

Luckily, Treville kept a house on the outskirts of the city so he did not have far to travel. When he got there, he found Constance carrying a basket out of the front door and she froze when she saw him. He grinned at her and quickly covered the rest of the short distance to pull her into a fierce hug.

“Is everything alright?” she asked as he held her.

“Yes, we’re all fine,” he assured her. “I needed to run an errand and pick up a few things so I accompanied the Captain back. Everyone is fine. I promise.”

When she pulled back, d’Artagnan was alarmed to see that she had tears in her eyes and frowned. He reached up to wipe them away, worried. “What is it?” he asked.

“I just… it has been so long,” she said, choking back a sob. 

d’Artagnan took the basket from her and ushered her back inside the house. He closed the door behind them then set the basket down before turning back to her. “I am sorry,” he told her as he pulled her into his arms once more. “I did not mean to frighten you. I know you have wanted to see us.”

“I have,” she told him, resting her head on his shoulder. “But I understand about Aramis. I just… I need to see that he is alright. I swear I will not do anything to upset him.”

“Shhh, Constance,” d’Artagnan soothed. “We know that. That is not the reason we asked that you stay away.”

“Then why?” she demanded.

“Aramis has been struggling,” d’Artagnan tried to explain. “The marks that demon left upon him… And he has not even begun to deal with the ones upon his face, not really. We know you would never do or say anything to upset him. The same cannot be said of him, though. Not right now. The things he said to me…”

“What?”

“Do not trouble yourself,” d’Artagnan told her. “He is better now and improving all the time. But the need, the desire to lash out was very much there and we did not think he could live with it if he ended up lashing out at you.”

“So it was better that he took his pain and anger out on you?” she asked skeptically.

“Yes,” d’Artagnan told her. “A hundred times better. If I had to choose any one of us to bear the brunt of his anger, I would choose myself. Athos and Porthos… God, I cannot even imagine the pain they would have been in.

“Besides, our rather unique relationship tends to make Aramis more my responsibility than anyone else’s. But let’s not talk about Aramis right now. I have something else I would like to discuss with you, if you do not mind.”

“I do not mind,” she said, “but I will not answer to anyone for the choices I make. It is my life and I shall live it as I see fit.”

d’Artagnan held up his hands in surrender. “I only wish to know that this is truly what you want,” he said. “If it is and he treats you well then you will hear no more of it from me.”

“It is truly what I want,” she told him. “And he treats me very well. He treats me with respect, as though I have a brain in my head and know how to use it rather than as some helpless creature who cannot take care of itself.”

“Then I am happy for you,” he told her, kissing her cheek. “The Captain invited me to stay for dinner. I hope you do not mind.”

“Of course I do not mind,” she said, swatting him as she moved away. “How long are you staying in Paris?”

“Only for the night. I have to pick up something from the market in the morning and then I’m heading back. I’ll be back in a few days to pick something up from the garrison, though.”

“Oh, do you think…” she began excitedly then stopped.

“What?” he asked when she trailed off.

“Do you think perhaps we could bring it to you, whatever it is you need to come back for?” she asked hopefully.

“If the Captain does not mind, I don’t see why not,” he said after a moment’s thought. “Aramis is doing better and he has wanted to see you quite desperately. He was rather angry with us for not allowing it.”

“Is that one of the things he…”

“Yes,” d’Artagnan said quickly. “At least to a degree. It was the culmination of many things but that did play a part in it. He saw it as a lack of trust on our part, on my part, and he lashed out.”

“Oh no,” she said.

“It is alright,” d’Artagnan told her. “In truth, I think he needed to lash out, to let some of the pain and anger and fear he was bottling up inside of him out.”

“You are a good man, d’Artagnan.”

“No, I am not,” he told her. “But I will not fail him. Not again.”

Treville was unsure what he might be walking into when he returned home. He knew d’Artagnan would make it a point of speaking with Constance before he arrived. He did not think he would change her mind, or even attempt to, but that did not ease the cold ball of worry currently resting in his stomach.

“You’re early,” Constance said when he walked inside. 

He quickly took in the sight of Constance preparing dinner while d’Artagnan sat at his kitchen table ostensibly talking with her. “I wanted to make sure d’Artagnan was able to get everything he needed taken care of today,” he offered, knowing it was a rather poor excuse.

“I did,” d’Artagnan told him. “The craftsman will have my goods ready in the morning before I leave.”

“Ah, that’s excellent,” Treville replied.

“Oh stop worrying,” Constance laughed. “I am not going anywhere, Jean-Armand.”

Blushing faintly at the soft rebuke, he did, nevertheless, relax. “You do enjoy getting right to the heart of a matter, don’t you, my dear?”

“I have found it the best course of action where Musketeers are concerned,” she replied.

“Constance has suggested that you and she deliver the item from the smith when it is ready,” d’Artagnan said. “If you do not mind, of course.”

“Are you sure that would be alright?” Treville asked.

“I believe so,” d’Artagnan said. “He has been practically begging to see her and I believe the visit would do him good.”

“Alright,” Treville agreed. “The smith said about three days or thereabouts so you can expect us any time after that.”

“We’ll make sure to have a room made up for you.”

“We are not…” Treville began only for Constance’s calm voice to interrupt him.

“That would be wonderful, thank you,” she said.

After dinner, d’Artagnan bid them goodnight. Constance had wanted him to stay but he had insisted on going back to their home. He wanted to look the place over and check on the repairs that had been made. He also needed to collect some of their personal effects to bring back to the maison. If he stayed there, he could get everything ready tonight and be able to head out as soon as he visited the shopkeeper in the morning.

d’Artagnan was quite impressed with the workmanship of the repairs done on the place. If he had not been involved in the actual assault, he would never have known one took place. Care had even been taken to make the repaired areas appear as weathered and aged as the rest of the house so that they would not stand out. He was glad. Even if he and Athos and Porthos would forever remember the sight of their home under attack, at least Aramis never would. 

Once he had checked everything to his satisfaction, he began gathering those things he wanted to take back with him. He packed extra clothes for all of them as well as the rest of their weapons. He looked in the sitting room and found one of Aramis’ prayer books lying on the mantle. He added that to the rest and bundled it all up. That done, he headed upstairs to bed.

As he stripped down and slid into bed, he realized that this was the first time he had slept alone in a very long time. He had slept on his own without his lovers before, of course, but they were always nearby, they always seemed like they were right there with him, close enough for him to reach out and touch if he wanted to. That was definitely not the case this night and d’Artagnan found himself feeling quite bereft as he slept in a bed that felt entirely too big for him.

While he tried to force his body to relax enough to sleep, he thought about the situation with Constance and the Captain. He truly did not have a problem with it, though he was a bit wary. Treville had a good many enemies of his own and he did not want to see Constance caught in the middle. But she was smart and resourceful and Treville would guard he well. She was in no more danger with him than she was when they were living here, probably less so.

No, he was not overly concerned about their relationship. He was, however, concerned about how Aramis might take the news. For while there was nothing of a romantic nature between the pair, there was still a great deal of love and devotion. And Aramis, for all of his amazing qualities, could be quite clingy with those he loved. He would have to do his best to reassure him that he was not losing his sister simply because she had taken a lover. Even if that lover was the Captain.

Satisfied that he could help Aramis accept this latest turn of events, d’Artagnan’s mind had nothing else to occupy it save for the events of earlier. Running into the couple in the shop had infuriated him. It had taken all of his willpower to turn away from them and just let them leave. Especially after he had seen what he knew to be Aramis’ rosary around that bitch’s neck. 

What he did not understand, was why Aramis had not told him of this. He had told him of what they had done to him and of their continued taunts but he had never mentioned them taking his rosary. And d’Artagnan did not think that had happened during the original encounter. If it had, Aramis would have said so, which meant that there had been at least one more encounter with them that consisted of decidedly more than just taunts on their part. The very thought made d’Artagnan sick. When sleep finally claimed him for the night, it was filled with shadowed dreams of blood and screams and the sound of a whip cracking.

When morning came, d’Artagnan felt like he had hardly slept at all. In truth, he had not. He had tossed and turned all night, waking often to the sound of Aramis’ name on his lips. If he had not promised the man he would be riding back in the daylight, he would have left that very night to return to him, unable to stand the thought of being away from him for a moment more.

Packing up his horse with those things he was taking back with him, he headed to the shop to pick up his order. He was pleased to find the shopkeeper waiting for him. “Come in, sir,” the man said. “I have your order all ready for you.”

He walked over to a table and showed d’Artagnan the goods he had prepared. The wide, brown collar was there. The man had etched intricate designs all over it, making it an almost identical match to Aramis’ pauldron. At the back, near the buckle, a single cross had been added as well. Aramis’ hair would cover it, but he and d’Artagnan would know it was there, protecting him. 

Laid out beside the collar was a leash in the same brown leather as well as two pair of leather wrist cuffs, one in the same brown and one in black. Both the leash and the cuffs could be fastened together or to the collar. He had intended to only get the single pair of cuffs but had added the pair of black ones on impulse as he imagined just what Aramis and Athos might look like side by side on their knees with their wrists shackled behind their backs.

“You do excellent work,” d’Artagnan told him as he ran his finger down the collar, feeling the dips and whirls of the design. “This is exquisite.”

“Thank you, sir,” he replied. “I am quite pleased with how it came out myself.”

After paying the man, d’Artagnan wrapped his purchase up and carefully stowed it in his saddlebags. He could not wait to see Aramis’ face when he presented the collar to him. Perhaps it would be the thing his lover needed to help bolster him and give him strength.

d’Artagnan was glad it was only a few hours from Paris back to the maison. Even after picking up his gift for Aramis, the memory of the couple plagued him. He needed to get back to his brothers and tell them what he had discovered. And he needed to talk to Aramis about what he may or may not still be hiding from them. He had thought them past this need to hide things, this mistrust of each other, but apparently they were not. Even as he thought it, he admonished himself. He was not being fair. Aramis had been through hell at these people’s hands and how he coped with it was his business. He owed d’Artagnan nothing, least of all every dark and painful secret of his past. If he was hurt by the perceived lack of trust then perhaps he should contemplate just why Aramis still failed to trust him.

The desire to get home steadily grew, first into need then into desperation. It was because of that, that he pushed his horse as hard as he did. He knew better than to push her so hard, especially now. Her shoes would last the winter but not being ridden like this and not over terrain made hard and slick from the cold of winter.

In the end, it was the matter of a single misplaced hoof. The slick leaves skidded out from under her foot and the slight decline meant that she could not regain her footing before she was going down and pitching d’Artagnan forward violently. He was as caught by surprise as she was and found himself flung out of the saddle and over her head before he could stop himself. 

He landed hard, breaking his fall with his hands rather than his face. He had a moment to realize his mistake before white-hot pain lanced up his entire arm and he crumpled to the ground on his side, clutching his taped wrist to his chest. He had not needed to hear the audible crack to know he had broken something this time, likely more than one something, and turned his head to vomit onto the ground. As he lay there panting, he was relieved when his horse walked over to him and gently nudged him with her head. At least she was still moving which was a good sign. Now all he had to do was get himself up again.

It took a few tries but he managed to get to his feet, only having to stop to vomit once more. He was equally relieved to see that none of the supplies he had loaded onto the horse had been lost. He was not at all sure he would have been able to gather them up and secure them again if they had been. Using his good hand, he checked his horse’s hoof and found the shoe completely missing. It looked like they would both be walking the rest of the way back. Judging from how far out they were, he estimated about another two hours, assuming he could keep up the pace.

It ended up taking a little over three hours for d’Artagnan to finally make it back to the estate. He had fallen several times, twice on his broken wrist. At least no one had been around to hear the scream he had been unable to stifle the second time. He had come close to blacking out that time as well and had only hung on to consciousness through grim determination. While he was not overly worried about bandits or such on the way back to the maison, there were still predators about and hunger made even shy animals bold. 

When he finally stumbled into the front yard leading up to the maison, it was to the sight of three worried men quickly preparing their horses. d’Artagnan had a moment to wonder where they were going before Aramis cried out and the three of them were rushing toward him. He had enough presence of mind to keep hold of his horse’s reins, lest she bolt at the sudden approach after everything they had been through, but she simply stood by placidly, as if used to such antics by these men.

“What happened?” Aramis asked as he dropped to his knees beside d’Artagnan. Their youngest was covered in leaves and mud and was holding his previously injured wrist close to his chest. Aramis could see the exhaustion and pain etched on his face and wanted nothing more than to bundle him into his arms and hold him. First, however, he had to see to whatever injury he had done himself.

“Horse stumbled, threw a shoe,” d’Artagnan said, panting slightly.

“And you as well, it would seem,” Athos said as he crouched down on d’Artagnan’s other side. He took the reins from younger man’s hand and handed them up to Porthos.

“I’ll get her settled in the barn and meet you lot in the house,” Porthos said. “Can you two manage him?”

“We’ve got him,” Aramis said. 

“Saddlebags,” d’Artagnan called out suddenly. “I have something… Can you put the saddlebags in my room?”

“I’ll take care of it,” Porthos told him. “You just worry about getting that hand fixed up again. You hurt anywhere else?”

“I don’t think so,” d’Artagnan said. “Bumps and bruises mostly. I landed on the hand when she threw me and then a couple of times when I fell.”

“We need to get him inside now,” Aramis said, clenching his jaw at the thought of how much pain d’Artagnan had to be in. 

Aramis and Athos both stood and reached down to lift d’Artagnan. The younger man tried to walk but they refused to even let him try. He was beyond exhausted and Aramis did not want to risk any further injury to his wrist. 

They took him into the kitchen and paused just inside. After exchanging a brief glance, Athos held d’Artagnan up while Aramis quickly divested him of his clothes until he was down to his shirt and smallclothes. He nearly bit his lip bloody at the pitiful sound the lad made as he worked his doublet past his injured hand. 

Once he was stripped down and at least somewhat clean, Athos sat him on the kitchen table while Aramis hurried to fetch his medical supplies. When he returned, Porthos had joined them and was heating water while Athos stood beside d’Artagnan, a steadying hand on his shoulder.

With Athos holding his arm steady and Porthos bracing him on the other side, Aramis began to carefully unlace the cuff of d’Artagnan’s shirt on his injured wrist. He could see that it was all that it was keeping the swelling at bay and tried to be as gentle as he could. Even so, he cringed every time he made the younger man cry out. Once the shirt was undone, he picked up a pair of scissors and cut away what was left of the original wrapping, not wanting to try to unbind it and cause him even further pain. 

“My God,” Athos gasped when they got a look at d’Artagnan’s wrist for the first time. His hand was resting at an angle, a very wrong angle, and the entire wrist was swollen and purple. Athos had no doubt that it would be almost black by nightfall.

“I need to set this,” Aramis said, swallowing thickly. “I must align the bones before we wrap it again. Athos, hold him. I am so sorry, love.”

“Just do it,” d’Artagnan told him, bracing himself as best as he could for the pain.

Aramis took his hand and examined it with his fingers, determining what was broken and what was merely out of place. With a better idea, he nodded once to Athos then tightened his grip and tugged sharply. He ignored the high-pitched scream that came from the young man and concentrated on aligning the bones as best he could. 

“Porthos, start wrapping,” Aramis ordered brusquely once he was satisfied that the bones were all in place as they should be.

Porthos did as he was told and began to bind d’Artagnan’s wrist. He started midway down his arm and worked his way up, following Aramis’ instructions about how tight to make it and where to apply thicker coverage. Once the initial bandages were in place, Aramis traded off with Porthos, allowing him to hold onto d’Artagnan’s hand while he applied additional layers of bandages, immobilizing the hand and wrist as much as he possibly could.

As Aramis bound his wrist, the overwhelming pain began to recede and d’Artagnan found his mind starting to come out of the fog of shock. He regarded Aramis for a moment, watching the man work, then his eyes alit on the rosary around his neck and the reason for his undue haste returned in a rush.

“I ran into some acquaintances of yours in Paris,” he said softly, his eyes riveted to Aramis.

“Really?” Aramis replied somewhat distractedly.

“Yes. Marisol and Pierre, to be exact,” d’Artagnan replied.

He watched Aramis still, the blood draining from his face. His eyes darted up to d’Artagnan’s own and what he saw there made anger unfurl within him. He had expected surprise and even fear, but the guilt he saw there enraged him. It told him that there was, indeed, much more to this than Aramis had told them of and d’Artagnan had to fight to hold his anger at bay.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” d’Artagnan asked, the aching betrayal in his voice unable to be hidden.

“Marisol?” Porthos said, interrupting. “Wait. Isn’t that the woman…”

“Yes,” Athos said. “But who is Pierre? And, more importantly, how do you know of him? I thought you promised not to go hunting for these people anymore, d’Artagnan. Is that all your trip to Paris was, a ruse to go after this couple once more?”

d’Artagnan whipped his head around and stared at Athos. He could not believe the man had just accused him of such a thing. He had promised his brothers he would not go after them again and he had kept his word. It had taken every ounce of willpower he had not to go after them when he had seen Aramis’ rosary hanging from that bitch’s neck. How dare Athos question him like this?

“Fuck you,” d’Artagnan snarled as he jerked away from Athos’ grip. He tried to stand but Athos and Porthos both pushed him back down.

“Talk to us, Whelp,” Porthos said, his hand gripping d’Artagnan’s shoulder tight. “Who is this Pierre?”

“He is Marisol’s husband,” d’Artagnan told him, the fight leaving him in a rush. “And I was not hunting them. I gave my word to you all and I have not broken it. I was in a shop buying a present for Aramis. I heard her name. When I glanced over to look, I saw her and a man. He was the same man I had met at the tavern when I was hunting, the man I thought might be the one I was looking for but I had not been sure.”

“But you’re sure now?” Porthos asked.

“Yes,” d’Artagnan spat. “There is no doubt. Their names are Pierre and Marisol Champney. According to the merchant I was speaking with, they live in a big manor house near the end of Rue Le Pince. He is a silk importer who supplies the local merchants so has no store proper. And now you all know everything about them that I do.”

His explanation finished, d’Artagnan glanced about the room for Aramis. He was nowhere to be seen, though. He did not recall him leaving the room, but then again, he had been rather focused on Athos and his accusations at the time, not to mention still suffering from the lingering effects of shock. 

“Where did he go?” he asked when it became clear he had not merely stepped out of the room to fetch something.

Athos and Porthos glanced at each other then around the room. They quickly grew alarmed when they realized that Aramis was not there. “I did not even notice him leave,” Porthos groaned. 

“d’Artagnan, you stay here. We’ll find him,” Athos said.

“No,” d’Artagnan said. “I’m the one he’s running from. It needs to be me that goes after him.”

“You are barely on your feet,” Athos argued.

“He will not have gone far,” d’Artagnan argued. He saw Athos about to protest further and stood up forcing the man to step back. “He is my responsibility, Athos. I believe I know where he has gone. If I do not find him there, I will return and we can search for him together.”

“Very well,” Athos relented begrudgingly. “You have one hour. If you are not back here by then we will come looking.”

“Make it two,” d’Artagnan told him. “I cannot move fast and it may take some time to work through things.”

d’Artagnan thought about taking a horse but decided against it. Simply getting dressed again had been difficult enough. He did not want to risk growing dizzy and falling on his hand yet again. Plus, if Aramis was where he expected him to be, it would be just as fast to cut through the woods as it would be to ride along the trail. 

Some twenty minutes later, d’Artagnan smiled to himself as his instincts proved correct. He found Aramis sitting on the ground in what had become known to them as ‘Aramis’ Glade’. He had confided that being there always brought him a measure of peace which was why d’Artagnan had thought he might go there now. 

“You should not be here,” Aramis said when d’Artagnan sat down beside him on the cold ground.

“You are here,” d’Artagnan told him. “Where else would I be?”

“At home in bed resting that hand,” Aramis replied. 

“Why did you not tell me?” d’Artagnan asked, ignoring Aramis’ reply.

“Tell you what exactly? I am afraid you will have to be more specific than that. There is a great deal in my past you are not privy to,” Aramis sniped. It did not mean to be harsh, especially to d’Artagnan, but it was instinctual. He was deflecting, trying to anger the other man so that he would leave off with his questions. 

“Tell me that she had taken your rosary,” d’Artagnan answered calmly.

“Why didn’t you tell me you knew who they were?” Aramis shot back.

“Because, up until yesterday, I did not. Not with any certainty,” d’Artagnan explained. “You gave us a name. Marisol. I had a name from a man at a tavern but I did not know if he was the man I was looking for or not. Nor did I know if that was even his real name. I certainly did not give him mine.”

“I am sorry,” Aramis said, looking down as shame filled him. He could not believe that it had come to this. That yet again those two were ruining his life. He had to wonder, was all of this, his desire to be mastered, to be subjugated, because of them, what they had done to him? And if so, could he truly live with that? Could he go on as he was now, knowing that this desire in him, this need, was borne of them?

d’Artagnan opened his mouth to ask about the rosary yet again and stopped. He could see the worry, the fear in Aramis’ eyes. Whatever this was, he was truly afraid of telling him of it. Aramis had not even been this afraid when he had spoken of his original encounter with the couple. He had been distressed, yes, but not afraid to tell him. Whatever this was, to Aramis, it was somehow much worse.

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” d’Artagnan told him. “But I would still like to know why you did not tell me that she had taken your rosary. Was it that first time? From what you said of it, I have to think that it was not. And if that is the case, then your future encounters with them were not all merely taunting on their part, were they?”

Aramis looked at d’Artagnan, his Master, then looked away. He felt like crying but his eyes remained remarkably dry. He did not know how to tell them this. He did not know how to explain. The first time had been bad enough. At least that time he had an excuse, he had been bound and unable to fight back. But the other times… 

“If you do not wish to tell me, you do not have to,” d’Artagnan said after long minutes of silence. “You have as much right to your past as any man. You do not owe me explanations simply because I am your lover. And I am sorry if I have made you think otherwise. I am here for you, Aramis. We all are, in whatever way you need us to be.”

“You must be so very disappointed in me,” Aramis said softly. He certainly felt like a disappointment. 

“I have never once been disappointed in you,” d’Artagnan told him earnestly. “Neither have the others, and they will tell you that themselves if you need them to. We love you and the only thing we care about your past is that it no longer be allowed to cause you pain.”

“You do not know…”

“I do not need to know, Little One,” d’Artagnan said, his voice firm. “Now, my time limit is almost up. Will you return to the house with me?”

“Time limit?” Aramis asked.

“Athos gave me two hours,” he explained. “If I am not back by then he and Porthos will come looking for us.”

“I am surprised he let you go alone at all,” Aramis said as he stood and helped d’Artagnan to his feet, mindful of his injured hand.

“He could not have stopped me,” d’Artagnan told him. “As I told him, you are my responsibility.”

Aramis stopped and stared, his Master’s words sinking in. Even injured and in a great deal of pain, d’Artagnan had thought only of him, of his well-being. And now, when he knew there was yet more that he had not been told, he did not push, he did not demand answers to his questions. He trusted Aramis to keep his own council only letting him know that he would be there for him should he ever wish to speak of it. Not for the first time, Aramis had to wonder what he had done to deserve such a blessing in his life as his Master.

They returned home to find Athos and Porthos still waiting in the kitchen. Both men breathed a sigh of relief when the pair walked in. “You two alright?” Porthos asked before the door was even closed behind them.

“Well enough,” Aramis replied. “This one needs rest, though.”

“Agreed,” Athos said. “Come. Let’s get you comfortable in the sitting room then we can all talk for a bit.”

Aramis hesitated slightly but a squeeze of d’Artagnan’s hand on his arm had him moving forward. His Master would stand behind him, whatever he decided to do. If he did not want to tell the others then d’Artagnan would not allow them to press. Aramis knew, of course, that he had to tell them. If they intended to go after these two then to leave them unaware would be putting them at a serious disadvantage and that was something he simply would not do.

Once they were all comfortably seated, Aramis looked at his brothers and cleared his throat. He had to know. Athos had told him before and they had all agreed but he had to know that they would still honor the promise they had made to him, that they would not act against the pair without his say so.

“What is it?” Athos asked, seeing the nervousness in Aramis’ eyes.

“I know that you all wish vengeance in my name,” he began. He felt d’Artagnan tense beside him and saw Athos and Porthos both sit up straighter. “I wish to know if you intend to honor your promise to me?”

“Promise?” Athos prompted.

“Your promise that you will not act against them if I do not wish you to,” Aramis stated.

“You mean for us to…” d’Artagnan began hotly only for Athos to cut him off.

“Yes,” Athos told him. “You have the final say in this, Aramis. If you do not wish us to act then we shall not.”

“Agreed,” Porthos said, albeit reluctantly. “I don’t like it, but if you say to let it be then I’ll heed your wishes.”

“And you, d’Artagnan?” Aramis asked when the younger man failed to answer.

His good hand was balled into a tight fist and he was breathing hard. He stared at Aramis, unable to believe what his lover was asking of him. How could he do this? He berated himself for ever opening his mouth. He should have kept his plans to himself and taken care of things as he saw fit. Now, he was bound by a promise, a promise he would not break no matter how much it tore him apart inside to keep it.

“I will not break my word to you,” he said, the words like knives slicing their way out of him.

“d’Artagnan?” Aramis said worriedly.

d’Artagnan shook his head and got to his feet. “Excuse me, I think I need to lie down for a bit.” He had taken all of two steps before Aramis’ voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Please don’t leave,” Aramis implored softly. He could not stand the thought of d’Artagnan walking away from him, not now. It felt like everything was spinning out of control and Aramis needed his Master to help ground him.

d’Artagnan stood as if frozen in place, his only movement the rise and fall of his chest as he all but panted. He was angry, almost violently so and had wanted some time to himself to get his emotions back under control. Aramis did not deserve his anger and he would not take it out on the man. He had been through enough because of these people, he would not be made to suffer more.

But to know that they were out there, walking free, laughing and joking as if they had done no wrong, as if they had not done everything in their power to destroy the man, made his blood boil. To see Aramis’ rosary about her neck, worn like some sick trophy, made him want to be sick. How much worse must it be for Aramis when he so much as caught sight of her, the precious symbol of his faith on display around her harlot’s neck?

After a few moments, d’Artagnan began to register more than just the rage inside of him. The first thing he felt was pain, hot and sharp lancing up his arm. He realized then that it was not only his good hand he had clenched into a fist, but his damaged one as well. He eased it open with a hiss, but was relieved when the pain abated back to a dull throbbing ache once more. He could feel the others’ eyes on him and turned back toward them. He saw the worry on all three of their faces and shook his head once before coming over to sit back down with them. If Aramis wanted him there then that is where he would be. 

“I’m sorry,” Aramis apologized, covering d’Artagnan’s balled up hand with his own. “I did not mean…”

“Do not apologize,” d’Artagnan told him shortly. The last thing he wanted to hear right now was Aramis tripping over apologies. He had made his wishes clear. He would honor his word. Nothing more needed to be said.

“Does it truly hurt you so much to simply let this go?” Aramis asked softly. He could see how tightly the other man was holding on to his emotions and it shocked him a bit to see him react so violently.

“It does not matter. You have made your wishes clear.”

“d’Artagnan,” Aramis gasped, closing his eyes at the pain in other man’s words. “Your pain always matters to me. It matters to us all.”

“I will get past it,” he said, his voice dull as he accepted the inevitable. “Though it would be best if I did not go into the city unaccompanied again.”

“Lad?” Porthos asked, surprised by d’Artagnan’s admission. Knowing the boy’s temper, he would have thought he would be chomping at the bit for an excuse to accidentally run into the pair.

“I am aware of my short-comings, Porthos,” he replied. “I cannot be trusted not to act if the opportunity were to present itself. It would be in everyone’s best interest if I were not presented with such.”

“Do you truly believe me so cruel as to do this?” Aramis asked.

“You do not consider protecting your family to be cruel,” d’Artagnan replied. “And I understand that, I do. I even agree with it. Which is why I have such difficulty simply allowing these people to walk free. The decision, however, has been made and there is no need to discuss it further.”

“Master, if you tell me…”

“No,” d’Artagnan spat. “I will not order you in this. I will not take the choice from you. It does not matter how much I disagree with your choice, Aramis. It is still your choice to make.”

“Thank you,” Aramis told him, smiling softly. He lifted d’Artagnan’s fist to his lips and kissed it. He took a deep breath, doing his best to calm his shaky nerves. He had to do this and he had to do it now before his courage failed him.

“There are things you must know,” he began, “before you can go after them. Things I have not shared with you. They are not… important, not really, but it could put you at a disadvantage should the information come out when you are unprepared for it and I will not send my brothers in to battle ill prepared.”

“Aramis, are you certain you wish to do this?” Athos asked. He did not want to push his brother into anything but he wanted vengeance for him just as badly as d’Artagnan did.

“I am sure,” he replied. “I do not like the thought of your risking yourselves, not for this, but I understand your need to. If it were one of you, I would be no less determined. And part of me… part of me is ashamed of the things I must tell you.”

“You have nothing to be ashamed of,” Porthos told him gruffly.

“I know you believe that now,” Aramis said. “But you may change your mind once I have explained things. At the very least, you will be disappointed in me for not telling you before.”

“Your past is your past, Aramis,” Athos told him. “You are not required to share it with us. That you told us what you did of it, we are grateful. If there were parts that were still too hard for you to discuss, that is more a reflection on us than you.”

“Oh, Athos, no,” Aramis said, stricken at the idea that they would think they had done anything to make him reluctant to tell them of this. “It was not you. Not any of you.”

“Was it not?” Athos countered. “Porthos and I did not exactly handle it well when you did tell us, as you expected we would not. And while I am unsure why you would not confide in d’Artagnan, I wonder if perhaps you feared that it might push him into doing something rash. Or more rash, I should say.”

“It was not anything any of you did,” Aramis said firmly. “Or failed to do. It was my own shame at what I allowed to happen that stemmed my tongue. Your opinions of me mean everything to me. The thought of somehow tarnishing myself in your eyes, of somehow becoming less, terrifies me.”

“Little One, if you sat here and told me you went to them willingly and let them hurt you again, that you… that you gave her that of your own volition, it would still not be enough to tarnish you in my eyes,” d’Artagnan told him. “Nothing will ever lessen you in my eyes. Nothing.”

Aramis closed his eyes and let his Master’s words sink in, soothing him like a balm. He was still afraid of what d’Artagnan might think and would be until he actually told him, but that fear was numbed now by the reassurance that his Master would still love him, would still want him when all was said and done. 

“He is right, you know,” Athos told him. “None of us will think less of you no matter what you tell us. It is as I told d’Artagnan when he first confessed to hunting them. No matter what he had done, it would not have changed him in my eyes.”

“Listen to Athos, love,” Porthos added. “We love you and nothing will ever make us see you as anything other than what you are.”

“And what is that?” Aramis asked in a strangled voice.

“The strongest man I have ever known,” Porthos replied.

Aramis felt his heart clench at Porthos’ words and offered him a tremulous smile. He needed to get on with this or he would never get the words out. “The item that d’Artagnan made reference to was my rosary. My original one. This one is a replacement for it. She… she took it from me on one of our subsequent… encounters.”

“Were these encounters voluntary on your part?” Athos asked carefully.

“No,” Aramis replied. “No, they were not. The first one occurred probably eight or nine months after our original encounter. I was leaving an inn on the way back to my rooms. I heard a young girl calling out for help from an alleyway. She said she was hurt. I went to investigate. I found Marisol holding the child with a pistol to her head.

“I let them take my weapons and bind my hands in exchange for the child’s safe release. Once the girl was gone, Pierre opened a side door to a warehouse of some sort. It may have been one of his, I am unsure. He threw him inside and I landed somewhat hard. I was winded and then he was on me before I could get my wits about me.”

“What did he do to you?” d’Artagnan asked when Aramis paused for long seconds.

“He stripped me down as much as he could with my hands bound behind me then… then took a strap to me. By the time he was done, I felt like I was on fire from my buttocks all the way down to the soles of my feet.” Aramis was staring at the floor as he spoke, unable to meet his lovers’ eyes. He started when he felt d’Artagnan’s hand unfurl beneath his own and grip it tightly.

“That was when she took my rosary,” he continued. “Said she wanted something to remember me by. They left me there like that, bound and half naked. It took me nearly an hour to work my hands free. Walking home was agony.”

“How many times did they get their hands on you?” Porthos asked, almost afraid to know at this point.

“Only once more,” Aramis told him. “After that, I was careful. I never went with anyone I did not already know. Never left taverns alone anymore.”

“My God,” Athos gasped.

“Now do you see why I wonder how you can call me strong?” Aramis laughed darkly.

“Because you are,” Porthos told him. “I would not have been able to endure a tenth of what you have.”

“Tell us the rest of it,” d’Artagnan said. “Tell us and be done with it.”

“Very well,” Aramis replied. “The last time, they used a woman to trick me. It was another eight or ten months after the last time. I had been out drinking with you lot. She asked me back to her rooms. When I got there, they were waiting. I tried to run, but someone hit me over the head. It wasn’t enough to knock me out but it was enough for Pierre to be able to subdue me yet again. Some trained Musketeer I am.”

“Stop that,” Athos told him. “You were protecting a child then hit from behind. The outcome would have been the same for any one of us.”

Aramis nodded and continued. “By the time I came around, I was naked and tied face down to a bed. At that time, I had never been more scared in all my life. I had no idea what he was going to do to me. This… this was not long after… after what happened in the alley… with… with that man. Only… only a few months.”

“Did he…” Porthos began, his heart lurching.

“No,” Aramis shuddered. “No, I do not believe his interests lay in that direction, thank God. He… he took a crop to me… a riding crop. He even… even let Marisol… for a time. The entire back of me was striped. He beat my backside so many times the marks began to bleed. The… the soles of my feet… I could barely walk afterwards.”

“Easy, love,” Porthos said. He slid his arm around Aramis’ shoulder and held him, trying to offer what comfort he could. The thought of Aramis going through something like that and so soon after his assault in the alley tore at him. Porthos thought he could remember that night. It was the first night Aramis had gone home with anyone after what had happened. When he had seemed upset the following day Porthos had figured it had not gone overly well and left it at that. He wished now that he had pressed the man. He was sure, if he had pushed even a little, Aramis would have told him.

“I would not have,” Aramis said, as if reading Porthos’ mind. “I would have spun you pretty lies until you believed me. I would never have admitted the truth. I would have been too afraid to lose you.”

“You would not have lost me,” Porthos told him.

“In hindsight, I know that,” Aramis admitted. “But I did not know it then and I simply could not take the chance. You were the only thing keeping me sane, Porthos. To lose you would have been tantamount to putting a gun in my own mouth.”

“Then you did the right thing,” d’Artagnan told him. “If it was how you needed to handle the situation, to survive it, then it was the right thing to do.”

“As much as I wish we could have been there for you, d’Artagnan is correct,” Athos said, hoping to ease some of Aramis’ guilt.

“There… there is more,” Aramis admitted, needing them to know the very worst of it.

“Then tell us and be free of it,” Athos said.

“When he was finished with me, Pierre leaned down and whispered something in my ear,” Aramis said. He began to shake as he remembered that awful moment. He had wondered if the man was finally going to kill him, to simply slit his throat and be done with it, but he had not. What he had done was much, much worse.

“What did he say?” Porthos urged, knowing Aramis needed to finally say this.

“He said… he said the man… the man from the alley… that he had sent him… had paid him to… to do that… to me,” Aramis stammered brokenly.

No one said anything for long seconds then they all seemed to move at once. Athos came off the divan to kneel in front of Aramis and Porthos turned toward him, pulling him into his arms. d’Artagnan pressed himself along his back, still holding his hand tightly. 

“I am going to kill that bastard with my bare hands,” d’Artagnan snarled as he lay against his shaking lover’s back. “And I will make him watch his pig of a wife die first.”

“Master, no,” Aramis moaned, his face buried in Porthos’ chest. That was the last thing he wanted, for d’Artagnan to sacrifice his honor for his sake. His lover was not a cold-blooded killer and Aramis did not want to see him made into one, especially for his sake.

“They will pay for what they did to you,” d’Artagnan told him. He was already picturing their ends in his mind. He would make them scream and beg for death before he was finished with them.

“Yes, we will make them pay,” Athos told him. “But you will not become a monster in doing so. Am I clear on this, d’Artagnan?”

“Athos…”

“Am. I. Clear.” Athos put ever ounce of command he possessed into the words, almost daring the younger man to defy him. He understood what d’Artagnan wanted and why but he understood Aramis, as well. He understood what it was Aramis feared and he would not let that happen. He would not allow d’Artagnan to be lost to them for vengeance of all things.

“They will die, Whelp,” Porthos added, lending his support to Athos. “We shall see to it. But Athos is right. Losing you in the process, that’s not acceptable, not to any of us.”

“I would not be lost,” d’Artagnan argued softly.

“Yes, you would,” Aramis replied. “All that made you who you are would be lost. I would willingly _give_ myself to them before I would see that happen.”

“Little One, no,” d’Artagnan said. “Do not… Fine. I will… I will do as Athos says. I will… I do not know what I will do but I shall not act other than to do as I am told.”

They stayed curled around Aramis until they felt him calm. Even then they only moved back from him reluctantly. d’Artagnan, for his part, was feeling every ache and pain throughout his body. The adrenaline had long since worn off and now he simply hurt. He knew by tomorrow he would feel a great deal better but that did nothing to help the pain he was in now.

Even the thought of trying to get undressed enough to fall into bed made him cringe. At this point, he was not sure he could get up from the damn divan unassisted. But that was why he had brothers, was it not? 

“Athos, could you help me?” he asked softly. Aramis was still wrapped up tight in Porthos’ arms and, in truth, he knew if Aramis helped him he would insist on staying with him and that was not where he needed to be. Not tonight.

“Of course,” Athos replied, frowning slightly. He stood and took d’Artagnan’s good hand when he held it out then carefully pulled him to his feet.

“d’Artagnan?” Aramis called, looking up from Porthos.

“I am past tired,” he admitted. “I need to lie down before I am unable to even manage the short walk to one of the rooms.”

“One of… You are not staying with us?” Aramis asked, hurt and confusion coloring his words.

“I am in pain, Aramis,” d’Artagnan told him honestly. “I will likely sleep little and what sleep I do get will be restless. I see no need to keep everyone up all night. You are all exhausted from the day’s events. You need rest almost as badly as I do. I will be but down the hall.”

“Are you still angry with me?” Aramis asked his voice suddenly quite small.

D’Artagnan sighed. “I was never angry with you,” he told him. “And before you ask, I am not angry with Athos either. I am doing this for no other reason than it makes the most sense. The less there is for me to accidentally knock my hand against the more sleep I am likely to get. There is no more nefarious reason than that. If it truly bothers you so much, I can sleep on the floor in the main room.”

“No,” Aramis said at once. “You need rest and the floor is no place for that. You care covered in bruises as it is.”

“It will just be for tonight, unless there is more damage to the hand than we realize,” d’Artagnan assured him. 

“It is alright,” Aramis told him. “You are allowed to sleep where you wish. I should not make you feel as though you must do otherwise.”

“Hush now, Little One,” d’Artagnan said. “I will see you in the morning. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, lad,” Porthos said as he tightened his arms around Aramis.

“Goodnight, Master.”

Athos kept his hand on his arm as he escorted him to the room that had started out as his and d’Artagnan’s. He got him out of his shirt and sat him down on the bed to remove his boots before helping him out of his breeches as well. Aramis had been right, their boy was literally covered in bruises and abrasions. Athos could not find a single part of him that did not bear a mark of some sort. 

“I could bathe you,” Athos offered. “It might make you feel better. Relax you at any rate.”

“As lovely as that sounds, I hurt too much for even that right now,” d’Artagnan replied honestly.

Athos’ eyes widened at the admission and he grew alarmed. He knew the younger man was hurting but not to such a degree. “I will fetch Aramis at once,” he said as he turned to leave.

“Do not. Please,” d’Artagnan said.

“You are in pain,” Athos said. “I am sure he something he can give you to help ease it.”

“And then he would spend the rest of the night worrying about me,” he reasoned. “He has had a difficult day. He needs rest as badly as I do. I will be alright. Now that I am lying down the pain will settle down again.”

“I am reluctant to leave you here alone,” Athos admitted.

“I will be fine, brother,” he replied. “There is nothing you can do for me here other than provide yet another obstacle for me to hit my injured hand on. What you can do, however, is make sure Aramis is taken care of for me. Will you do that for me, Athos, so that for tonight I do not have to worry for him?”

Athos closed his eyes for a moment then nodded. “I will see to our family,” he promised. “Try to get some rest.”

“I will. Goodnight, Athos.”

“Goodnight, Whelp.”

When Athos left the room, he found Porthos and Aramis in the hall headed toward their shared bedroom. “Boy alright?” Porthos asked.

“He will be,” Athos told them as they continued on down the hall. “His hand is paining him. I think Aramis should check it again come morning just to make sure he has not done any damage to it during the night.”

“Will he allow me to?” Aramis asked miserably.

“Aramis,” Athos said, taking him by the arm and turning him to face him. “He is in pain. A very great deal of it. He wishes to be alone to deal with it without the added burden of trying to hide it from us so that we do not worry ourselves sick over him. Believe me when I say he would much rather be with you this night. Having you even this far away from him, well, it pains him, too.”

Aramis nodded. He knew Athos was right but it was still difficult. d’Artagnan was hurt, had been while they were not with him. They are lucky it had not been much worse than it was. What if the horse had gone down harder or on its side, pinning him beneath it? What if he had hit his head when he had been thrown, or broken his leg instead of his wrist? 

“Aramis?” Porthos called when he saw a stricken look pass over his face. “What is it?”

“We could have lost him,” Aramis whispered. “We were lucky. It could have been so much worse. His hand was already injured. What if he had not been able to break his fall? He could have broken his neck.”

“Hey now,” Porthos said, pulling him close and holding him. “It didn’t happen. He’s safe. He made it back to us just like he promised. Well, okay, not just like he promised, but close enough. He’ll be alright. We’ll make sure of it. And we won’t let the fool go off on his own again.”

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

Athos and Porthos were not surprised when they awoke and found Aramis still sound asleep between them. The revelations of the prior day had been emotionally draining on all of them, but none more so than on Aramis himself. Without a word, they agreed to leave him to sleep and slipped silently from the bed. Their first stop after dressing was to check on d’Artagnan. With any luck, their youngest was still asleep as well. Any sleep, even of the restless variety, would be for the best right now.

When they got to his room, however, they found the bed empty, the covers thrown back and the lad’s breeches missing from the floor. Shaking their heads, they hurried on through the house and breathed a sigh of relief when they found him on the divan in the sitting room. 

“At least you only bothered to fight your way into your breeches,” Athos observed dryly as they moved to join him. “You could have come and gotten one of us to help you.”

“I didn’t want to wake any of you,” he shrugged. 

“How long have you been up?” Porthos asked. He could see the dark circles under the boy’s eyes, though they were not as dark as he would have expected.

“About an hour or so. I slept off and on. Napped mostly but it helped.”

“Your pain is better?” Athos asked.

“Yes,” d’Artagnan told him. “Just aches now rather than feeling like someone is twisting a hot knife around in there.”

Athos’ eyes widened at d’Artagnan’s admission. If the boy had told him that last night he would have hauled Aramis into his room no matter how much he protested. Which was precisely why d’Artagnan had not shared that information with him last night. Deciding there was no point in arguing about it now, Athos let it go. There were other things they needed to discuss, preferably without Aramis in earshot.

“When will one of us need to return for the brand?” Athos asked after glancing toward the doorway to make sure Aramis was nowhere near.

“I thought that was what was in your saddlebags,” Porthos said.

“Ah, no,” d’Artagnan replied. “That’s something I picked up for Aramis. The brand will be ready in about three days or so but we don’t have to pick it up. Treville and Constance are going to bring it out.”

Athos and Porthos both paused and a look passed between them. “I suppose it is past time,” Athos said. “He has wanted to see her badly.”

“I see you are both still idiots,” d’Artagnan said, shaking his head. “I can assure you, you have nothing to be concerned with in that regard.”

“How can you be so sure?” Porthos asked.

“Because even though the house has been repaired for some time now she is still staying with the Captain,” d’Artagnan told them.

“Is she now?” Porthos said, grinning widely.

“Porthos,” Athos admonished softly. 

“I am glad you are so pleased,” d’Artagnan told him. “But I am not sure Aramis will see things quite the same way.”

“See what quite the same way?” Aramis asked as he stepped into the room. He had awoken alone and went in search of his brothers only to find them deep in discussion.

“Captain’s got himself a girlfriend,” Porthos chuckled, ignoring Athos’ warning glare.

“Really?” Aramis grinned. “Who’s the lucky lady?”

“Constance,” Porthos told him before the other two could stop him. 

d’Artagnan glared at Porthos as they watched the smile fall off of Aramis’ face. He quickly schooled his features into something resembling placidity, or as close to it as he could manage. “That is wonderful,” he said a bit woodenly. “I am sure they will be quite happy together.”

“Aramis, are you alright?” Athos asked. 

“Of course,” he replied. “Why ever would I not be?”

“It is alright if you are not,” d’Artagnan told him. “I was not exactly pleased when I first found out. But it is what she wants and he is good to her. He knows he will answer to us if he is anything but.”

“Then all is as it should be,” Aramis replied. “I would like to recheck your hand if it is not paining you too much. Just to make sure nothing shifted in the night.”

“Certainly,” d’Artagnan said as he stood up. “Let’s go to my room.”

“As you wish,” Aramis said. He waited for d’Artagnan to precede him then followed behind. Once they were inside the room, d’Artagnan instructed him to bolt the door. Unsure of his intent, Aramis did as he was bid then sat down beside d’Artagnan on the bed.

“Talk to me,” d’Artagnan said. He knew Aramis was upset by the news. He had expected him to be and had wanted to break it to him gently. Porthos had ruined that and now he was left with trying to help Aramis make peace with what he knew he would see as the loss of his sister.

“There is nothing to say,” Aramis replied. “I have missed her so much. I know they did not want me to see her because… well because they feared how I might act. I suppose, with the Captain as her lover, they no longer feel the need to worry about how I comport myself with her.”

“Wait,” d’Artagnan said. “Aramis, do you think we kept her away because…”

“Because of how I behaved with her before,” Aramis finished for him.

“Oh, love, no,” d’Artagnan told him. “No. If that was the reason, I would have brought her here to see you myself. We kept her away because you were not handling things well. You were healing and you were grieving. 

“And while Constance would never have held any harsh words you threw at her against you, you would not have been so forgiving of yourself. If you had taken your anger and your pain out on her, you would have flayed yourself alive for it later. That is why we would not let her come. We were trying to protect you.”

“Oh,” Aramis said. “I… I know you said this but I still thought…”

“Never,” d’Artagnan swore to him. “I would never allow anyone, not even our brothers, to keep her from you out of jealousy, whether unfounded or not.”

“She… she is happy?” Aramis asked then, his heart easing a bit at the knowledge that they had not kept him from her simply because they did not trust him not to try to bed her.

“She seems it,” d’Artagnan said. “I believe she is. Time will tell and we shall be keeping an eye on things to make sure. You should know, one of the reasons Treville has been so cautious with going forward with her has been his concerns about you.”

“Me?”

“He had no wish to trespass, as he put it.”

“Him, too?” Aramis groaned.

“For what it’s worth, I think that was due to Athos’ and Porthos’ own reactions as well as Constance’s worry for you. She does tend to worry for you more than the rest of us.”

“She does not worry more for me than she does you,” Aramis argued.

“No, probably not,” d’Artagnan agreed. “But I was her lover. You see now how perhaps Treville could have come to the conclusion he did?”

“Ah, yes, I suppose that makes sense,” Aramis said, blushing slightly.

“Constance set him straight in that regard, as did I,” d’Artagnan assured him.

“So he… he does not mind…”

“That you are her brother and that the two of you love each other very much?” d’Artagnan asked. “I do not believe so. But if he does, then he is not the man for her and she will tell him that herself. She will not allow him to separate her from her family. You have not lost your sister, Aramis. I swear you have not.”

“Thank you, Master,” Aramis said taking a moment to bask in the relief of those words and let them chase away the sickening fear he had felt when Porthos had told him. “Now, let me check your hand. I really do want to make sure nothing shifted in the night.”

Once d’Artagnan’s wrist was seen to, and Aramis was satisfied that no further damage had been done, they prepared to rejoin the others. “Do you have plans for today?” d’Artagnan asked him.

“No,” Aramis said. “Why?”

“I would like to spend some time with you after breakfast,” he said. He had spied his saddlebags when he had woken up and was anxious to present Aramis with the collar he had gotten him. 

“I would like nothing better,” Aramis smiled.

They found the others in the kitchen preparing breakfast. Athos and Porthos at least had this much down and could now prepare breakfast without d’Artagnan’s supervision. Both men were still tense, unsure how upset Aramis might still be. One look at him let them know that whatever d’Artagnan had said had alleviated his fears.

“I did not mean to seem flippant,” Porthos said as they sat down to eat.

“It is fine,” Aramis said. “I understand. If she is truly happy then I am happy for her as well.”

Once breakfast was done, d’Artagnan told Aramis to await him in his room. He asked the others if they could give them some time alone together and they quickly agreed. They knew Aramis would benefit from it as much as d’Artagnan would. Besides, they knew d’Artagnan had purchased something for the other man while in Paris and likely wanted to give it to him. 

When d’Artagnan entered the bedroom, it was to find Aramis kneeling in the center of the room. He had stripped down to just his breeches as d’Artagnan was. He would have undressed fully but he did not know what the other man had in mind and did not want to presume. His head was bowed but he did not miss the click of the lock when d’Artagnan turned it, ensuring their privacy would not be interrupted.

“You are so very beautiful,” d’Artagnan told him, “and I love you with all my heart and soul.”

“Master,” Aramis moaned, the words feeding the hungry parts of his soul. He knew he still had so much to make up for, and not just to d’Artagnan. He knew there was still trust to be rebuilt between them, that he had damaged what lay at the heart of their relationship. And still this precious boy dared tell him such things.

“I got something for you when I was in Paris,” d’Artagnan went on. “Luckily, it survived my somewhat adventurous return trip. I would have you stay as you are while I lay it out then I will show it to you.”

“Yes, Master,” Aramis replied suddenly nervous. He had no idea what his Master might have gotten him while in the city. It could be any number of things but from the careful way his Master was proceeding, Aramis knew he was somewhat nervous about the gift as well.

Taking the saddlebag, d’Artagnan carefully pulled out the collar, leash and matching leather cuffs. He spread them out on the bed then set the saddlebag aside once more. He knew there was a chance that Aramis would not like them, that he had changed his mind about the idea of a collar. If that was the case then he would simply pack them away and make no mention of it again. 

“Alright,” d’Artagnan said as he stepped aside and waited for Aramis to come and see for himself.

Aramis rose to his feet and turned toward the bed. What he saw there stopped him in his tracks and made his breath stutter in his chest. It seemed to take forever, but he was finally able to make himself move forward until he stood right in front of the things his Master had laid out. He took in the lot of it, but his eyes were riveted to the collar. It was a deep, rich brown and the markings engraved upon it were nearly identical to those on his pauldron. Aramis knew at once that his Master had commissioned this specifically for him. 

Reaching out, he let his finger ghost along the leather, feeling the etchings. He felt his heart ache in longing. He wanted it. He wanted it so very badly. And yet… He was suddenly unsure. The doubts that had plagued him in the glade came back in a rush. What if this, his desire for this, to be dominated, to be subjugated and collared, was all because of _them_? Could he truly live with this if it was? Could he stomach it, knowing that what they did to him was the reason he craved this now?

“Do you not like it?” d’Artagnan asked softly. He could see the indecision on his lover’s face and his own heart ached with it. He had thought Aramis wanted this but something was definitely wrong. Aramis almost looked afraid.

“I love it,” Aramis replied, letting his finger run down the leather once more.

“Then what is wrong?” d’Artagnan asked him. “Something about it troubles you. Please talk to me. I cannot help you if I do not understand.”

“I want it,” Aramis said. “I want it so badly that it… it frightens me. And I find myself wondering how much of this desire…”

“Aramis?”

“How much of this desire is because of them? Did they create this need in me with what they did to me? Did they somehow make me crave this… this need to submit, to be put on my knees?”

“Do you truly believe that?” d’Artagnan asked him.

“I do not want to,” Aramis admitted. “But I am scared that it is true.”

“Tell me something, when you are put on your knees as you called it, what do you feel?” d’Artagnan asked. He was grasping at straws, trying to think of a way to make Aramis see that his needs, his desires were not the product of the abuse he had suffered.

“I feel many things,” Aramis replied.

“What do you feel the strongest? What is the first thing that comes to mind?”

“Peace,” Aramis replied. “I feel a sense of peace, of rightness.”

“And when you think of what they did to you, what do you feel? Again, the very first thing that comes to mind.”

“Revulsion,” Aramis replied with a shudder.

“They did not create this desire in you, love,” d’Artagnan told him. “What they did to you was an abomination and they will pay for it. Your submission, it is beautiful. Something that beautiful, that brings you such peace, could never be the product of such an obscenity as the likes of them.

“But if this truly bothers you, if it is going to make you think of them, then I will throw it out this second and we need never mention it again.”

Aramis turned to face him then, his eyes wide at the thought of his Master taking the collar and simply throwing it away, of never getting to feel that leather wrapped around his throat. “Do not do that,” he said. “Please, please do not do that. It is just…”

“Just what?” d’Artagnan asked, needing to know what this would do to Aramis before he could allow himself to go through with it.

“I want it so badly,” Aramis admitted. “I should not want it this much.”

“Why not? What harm does the desire do, especially when I have proven myself more than willing to grant it you?”

“Please,” Aramis moaned unable to hold back any longer. Everything he had wanted for so very long was being offered to him and he did not have the strength to turn it aside. Not anymore. 

“Kneel,” d’Artagnan told him, biting back a moan of his own when Aramis slid to his knees before him, his head bowed. He reached over and picked up the collar and held it in front of Aramis. “Do you like it?”

“It is beautiful,” Aramis said, raising his head enough to look at it. “You had it made just for me, didn’t you?”

“I did,” d’Artagnan confirmed. “It will look so good with your leathers.”

“You would have me wear it even then?” Aramis gasped.

“If it were up to me, I would never have you remove it,” he told him. “Did you notice the cross I had him add? He thought me a bit strange for that one but he did not question it.”

“I… oh…”

“I would have you protected in all ways,” d’Artagnan told him. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, Master,” Aramis breathed then bowed his head once more. He held his breath as he felt d’Artagnan slip the leather around his throat then buckle it in place. It was softer than he had expected, supple, like his leathers actually. 

“Look at me,” d’Artagnan told him once he had the collar fastened. He watched as Aramis raised his head slowly, his eyes over-bright and filled with so many emotions d’Artagnan struggled to name them all. But the love and the joy he felt were there for all to see. 

“Master,” Aramis said, his voice strangled. He moved forward on his knees and rested his head against d’Artagnan’s hip. He needed desperately to serve his Master right now, to show him how very much he loved his collar, loved him. “Let me please you, Master. Let your Little One please you.”

“That is not necessary,” d’Artagnan told him as he carded the fingers of his good hand through his hair. 

“Please,” Aramis begged. “I need… I need to serve you, Master.”

“Of course,” d’Artagnan said, hearing the desperation in Aramis’ voice and understanding. His emotions were threatening to overwhelm him completely and he needed to ground himself. “How would my Little One like to serve me?”

“I… I would like nothing more than for you to bend me over the side of the bed and fuck me,” Aramis panted. “But I do not think you are up to that at the moment. You are still recovering from your injuries and you will not take me without preparing me first.”

“No, Little One, I will not,” d’Artagnan told him.

“So I will use my mouth on you if that is acceptable,” Aramis said.

“More than,” d’Artagnan told him. He let the hand in Aramis’ hair turn grasping and pulled him back from him. “Take my cock out and suck me, Little One. I want to see if your throat feels any different on my cock with my collar wrapped around it.”

Aramis quickly undid d’Artagnan’s breeches and pulled his hardening cock out. He licked and nuzzled at it for a moment then opened his mouth and took him inside. He sucked on the head for a few moments, running his tongue over it and savoring the flavor of his lover. Slowly, he began to take him in deeper and deeper until he could feel him brushing against the back of his throat. He held himself there for a moment then swallowed around him, taking him all the way into his throat.

Aramis could not help but moan as he felt his Master’s cock enter his throat. It actually did feel different with the collar on, at least for him. He could feel the constricting leather against his throat as he swallowed around the man’s cock and it made his entire body thrum with desire. To feel the tangible mark of his Master’s ownership upon him without his Master having to do anything was heady and Aramis felt his cock throbbing insistently in his breeches as he sucked and swallowed again and again just to feel the bite of the leather against his throat.

“Aramis,” d’Artagnan moaned as his lover sucked him with abandon, taking him in to the hilt and then holding him there. He had never been so adamant about taking him into his throat before, much less keeping him there. He could only assume it had something to do with his collar, that Aramis must be able to feel it in some way and the knowledge made his bollocks tighten.

Knowing Aramis wanted to keep him in his throat but that he was in real danger of spending if he kept it up, d’Artagnan tightened his grip on Aramis’ hair and forced him to pull back. The mewling whine it pulled from Aramis was almost enough to make d’Artagnan relent but he knew his boy would rather their encounter last a bit longer.

“Sorry, pet, but if you kept that up any longer I was going to spend,” he told him. “And I would very much like to fuck your mouth first.”

Aramis nodded his agreement and began to work his tongue around his Master’s cock as best he could. He knew his Master would let him take him into his throat again, if not this time then another. This time was for his Master’s pleasure. 

“Oh, yeah, just like that,” d’Artagnan groaned, relishing the feel of Aramis’ nimble tongue running all along his shaft. Keeping his grip just shy of painful, he began to fuck Aramis’ mouth, slowly building up speed until he was fucking him full out, the head of his cock hitting the back of his throat with every stroke.

It did not take long for d’Artagnan’s climax to build. He waited until he was close then pulled himself completely free. He let go of Aramis’ hair and gripped his cock, fisting it. “Tip your head back,” he rasped. “I want to see my spend running down your face and onto your pretty collar.”

Aramis let out a whimper at d’Artagnan’s words. He had to reach down to grip himself to keep from spending in his breeches. He wanted that. He wanted it so very badly, to feel his Master’s spend running down his face, down onto his collar, marking him in nearly every way imaginable.

“Take your cock out,” d’Artagnan gasped. He had not missed the way Aramis had gripped himself. “I want you to spend. I want to watch you spend just from sucking my cock and having me spend on your face.”

“Master,” Aramis gasped, his hands shaking as he undid his own breeches. He managed to get his cock out and began stroking himself as his Master had commanded. The weight of the collar on his throat, the sight of d’Artagnan stroking himself over his face, the knowledge that he was watching him do the same, all of it coalesced at once and with a cry Aramis began to spend, his seed, covering his belly and hand as his hips pumped helplessly.

The sight of Aramis, on his knees before him, lost to passion was more than d’Artagnan could withstand. With a groan of his own, he began to spend. He pointed his cock directly at Aramis’ face, wanting to cover it in his spend. When Aramis opened his mouth to gulp in air, d’Artagnan aimed his cock there as well, letting his spend fall into his open mouth before shoving his cock inside and letting the last of his release coat his lover’s mouth and tongue.

“Alright, Little One?” d’Artagnan asked when he slid free of Aramis’ mouth.

Aramis nodded, unable to speak just then. He was still reeling from their encounter, sated and wrung out and more at peace than he had realized was possible. He stayed on his knees, but leant forward and rested his head against his Master’s hip again. He did not want to let him go, to break the contact between them. If it were up to him, he would strip them both naked and so they might lie together with nothing between them.

“Do you want to come up and sit on the bed with me or would you rather I come down there with you?” d’Artagnan asked when Aramis gave no indication that he intended to move. He cast about and found his discarded shirt from last night and used it to clean Aramis’ face as best he could.

“Master?”

“We have some few things to discuss,” d’Artagnan told him. “We can do it from the bed or I can sit with you on the floor if you do not wish to move.”

“You are injured, Master,” Aramis huffed, sitting back and pushing himself to his feet. “You have no business sitting on the floor.”

“As you wish,” d’Artagnan grinned. He picked up the leash and cuffs and set them aside for now then climbed onto the bed. He spread his legs and motioned for Aramis to come sit between them. Once he sat down, d’Artagnan pulled him back against his chest and wrapped his arms around him.

“This is nice,” Aramis mused, enjoying the feeling of being held simply for the sake of it. 

“Yes,” d’Artagnan agreed. “I always enjoy the feel of you in my arms. It eases something inside of me.”

“In me as well,” Aramis told him. “What was it you wished to speak of?”

“Your new collar,” d’Artagnan told him. “What it means. What it doesn’t.”

“What does it mean?” Aramis asked.

“That is for us to decide. I know what I wish it to mean,” d’Artagnan told him.

“And that is?”

“That you are mine,” d’Artagnan said. “I know I do not own you. I have no desire to do so. You are your own man and always will be. But there is a part of you that I would have solely for my own, if you would allow it.”

“You speak of Little One,” Aramis said.

“Yes. I… All of you… all of your selves are precious to me… but he…”

“I understand,” Aramis said. “And I know it can be difficult to talk about. They are not separate from me, not truly, and yet at times, they almost are. It is a very fine line. And one I have not always walked so well.”

“I will not let you falter in this,” d’Artagnan assured him. “I know you struggle at times. I know when you were hurt and scared that you hid behind them and I was glad that you were able to. You needed that. I can understand the allure, to simply become someone else, someone without all of the expectations you normally have thrust upon you. It must be such a relief to don their masks for a time.”

“I worry sometimes,” Aramis admitted somewhat hesitantly.

“About?”

“About Little One. About how much more than a mask he has become.”

“He is not separate from you, Aramis,” d’Artagnan assured him. “He is a part of you, perhaps a much more integral part than any of us realized, but he is still just a part, a facet. If I have done anything to make you think him more than that, then I am sorry.”

“No, it is not you, Master,” Aramis said quickly. “It is more me. If he is as you say, then why did he come out for Athos as he did? Why did that side of me show itself then?”

“Because you were hurt and scared and still drugged half out of your mind,” d’Artagnan replied. “You simply could not take any more and your mind knew this so it hid behind the mask of Little One, knowing that Athos would see and would respond accordingly.”

“And in doing so, I betrayed you.”

“You did no such thing,” came the firm reply. “You needed help and you sought it the only way you were able at the time. Turning to one of your brothers in a time of need will never be a betrayal in my eyes.”

“You forgive far too easily, my Master,” Aramis chuckled.

“There is nothing I would not forgive you.”

“Master…” Aramis huffed. Knowing he needed to get their conversation back on track he began again. “So you would like Little One to belong solely to you?”

“Yes,” d’Artagnan told him. “But if that is not something you wish then tell me so.”

“No,” Aramis shook his head. “I want that, too. I… Little One, he does not want any other but you. He will serve the others, if you direct him to do so, but to him it would only be an extension of serving you.”

“Alright,” d’Artagnan said, relieved. He had not known what he would have done had Aramis said Little One wished to be available to the others. He would have allowed it, of course, for he would deny Aramis nothing but it would have broken something inside of him to do so. 

“What about Boy?” Aramis asked.

“Well, what does Boy want?” d’Artagnan countered. He had a feeling he already knew the answer to this but he needed Aramis to say it first.

“He… he would very much like to… to be able to be shared with his brothers,” Aramis admitted. He was almost holding his breath once the words were out, unsure how his Master would take them.

“Very well then,” d’Artagnan said. “Do you wish him to have to seek my permission first or do you simply wish him to be shared amongst us without such constraints?”

Aramis had to think about that. There was a bit of a thrill involved at the thought of Boy having to ask his Master if he was allowed to be with his brothers. In the end, however, he did not think that a tenable situation. If Boy was to be shared then he would need to be shared equally.

“It is a tempting thought,” Aramis said. “And it does thrill me to think of it, but I do not believe it would work for us for very long.”

“Agreed,” d’Artagnan said, glad that Aramis had come to that on his own. He had been willing to guide him there if need be but was pleased he would not have to. “And now I believe it is time to talk about your collar.”

“What of it?” Aramis asked a touch fearfully.

“We need to decide the rules I guess,” d’Artagnan said. “For example, I wish the collar to be permanent. I know, however, that is not practical.”

“Hang practical,” Aramis said at once. “I would like that as well.”

“And will Porthos?” d’Artagnan asked as gently as he could. His brothers may have made strides in accepting this part of his and Aramis’ relationship but he knew Porthos was not going to like the collar, especially if it was permanent. 

“Probably not, no,” Aramis replied sadly. “I… I will need to speak with him.”

“I would suggest someplace private,” d’Artagnan said. “He should feel free to speak as he would without fear of being overheard.”

“Yes,” Aramis agreed. He hesitated again then looked up at d’Artagnan. “I may need to remove the collar when I speak with him.”

“Do whatever you feel you need to,” d’Artagnan told him. “You belong to Porthos more than you ever will me and I will do nothing to damage the bond that is between you.”

“I love you so very much, Master.”

“No more so than I do you, Little One.”


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sections in italics denote dream sequences...
> 
> Thank you Snow_Glory for all of the hand holding on this as well as all of the wonderful suggestions. You are awesome!!

Part 37

Aramis slipped out of the house and headed to the glade. He thought it would be best to talk to Porthos there, affording him the freedom to speak as he would without the fear of being either interrupted or overheard. He had no illusions about Porthos’ likely reaction. While he, and Athos as well, had been trying to understand the relationship between him and d’Artagnan, he still struggled with it. 

He did have some hope, however. For Porthos had actively helped Athos in keeping him and his master together when d’Artagnan had tried to walk away from him out of misplaced guilt. If he had been willing to do that, to go that far, perhaps he would be able to accept this, the final culminating symbol of the bond between the two of them. If not, well, it was as d’Artagnan had said. Porthos came first. He would always come first and Aramis would bow to his wishes in this no matter how much it might pain him to do so.

It was not long before he heard the sound of someone approaching. He knew instinctively that it was Porthos and took a deep, steadying breath. He kept his back turned, wanting to wait until he was beside him to reveal the collar to him. The last thing he wanted was for his lover to storm off in a huff before he had a chance to talk things out with him.

“Whelp said you wanted to talk to me,” Porthos said as he sat down next to Aramis on the blanket the other man had spread out.

Aramis turned toward him then and simply waited. He saw the exact moment when Porthos noticed the collar around his neck. He watched his lover’s eyes widen then narrow as he jaw clenched. “I do,” Aramis said, reaching out and taking Porthos’ hands in his own. 

“Should’a seen this coming, I guess,” Porthos sighed, shaking his head. 

“Will you tell me what you do not like about it?” Aramis asked. Porthos had not pulled his hands back which he considered a good sign. Perhaps if he could get him to talk about this they could reach some common ground.

“You’re not an animal,” Porthos told him, having to fight to keep the growl from his voice. “You’re not his fucking property.”

“No,” Aramis agreed. “I am not and he does not treat me as such. That is not what this means.”

“Isn’t it?” Porthos challenged. “It means you’re his. It means you belong to him now.”

“Ye-yes,” Aramis said, stammering slightly, suddenly not liking where this might be going. “But that does not mean I do not still belong to you. That I do not belong to you first and foremost. Surely you know that.”

“I do know that,” Porthos said. “It’s just… this thing with him… sometimes I can’t help but worry and wonder what it means for us.”

“I will walk away from this right now, if that is what you wish of me,” Aramis told him. “All of it. Little One. Boy. They will never be heard from again if that is what you need of me.”

“You really think I could do that to you?” Porthos asked tightening his grip on Aramis’ hands. 

“It is wholly within your power to do so,” Aramis replied.

Porthos stared at him then pulled him forward and into his lap. With no small amount of horror, Porthos realized that the power Aramis had once told d’Artagnan he had, the power Porthos had made him relinquish, was one that he himself has possessed all along. It was an actual physical pain to know that he could, with a few harsh words, forever sever the bonds between Aramis and d’Artagnan. 

“Do you truly believe me to be so cruel as to do such a thing to either of you?” Porthos asked, his voice strained.

“Not intentionally… willfully,” Aramis replied. “But you must follow the dictates of your heart. You have struggled with this from the beginning and I have selfishly insisted that you accept it. If you can no longer do so, if you have taken as much of this from me as you are able or willing to, then you must tell me so.”

“I cannot deny that I have struggled with this and still do at times,” Porthos admitted. “But it has gotten easier. I have seen how much you truly desire it, that it is not something the boy forces on you. And I know… I know we likely would have lost you if not for him and the bond you share with him.”

“You do not know that,” Aramis tried to argue.

“I know it was your bond with him that allowed you to come back to us when the darkness had you,” Porthos countered. “It helped you hold on to yourself, to fight back. You say it did not dare to attack your love for me and I believe you, I do. But I know your bond with the boy was just as important. 

“And it was that same bound that helped you see past your despair at what that demon had done to you. Neither Athos nor I could have done that for you,” Porthos admitted. “As much as we would have done anything and everything to help you, we simply would not have been able to. That the boy could, is something I will be grateful for until my dying day.”

“Can you tell me what it is that you still struggle with?” Aramis asked. He wanted so much to help Porthos with this. He was everything to him. If he could not find a way to finally accept this then Aramis would end it himself. 

“It’s not one thing,” Porthos said, trying to put his feelings into words. “And it’s nothing big, just lots of little things that make me uneasy sometimes.”

“Like what?”

“I worry sometimes that he’s forcing you to do things you don’t want to,” Porthos admitted.

“Would you believe me if I told you that he is not?” Aramis asked. “That he always makes sure I am in agreement, that I am not distressed in any way?”

“I do not doubt your word, love,” Porthos told him, “only your ability to know the difference when you are… not yourself.”

“Ah, so that is what troubles you,” Aramis said. “I am always myself, Porthos. I do not become someone else. He may call me Boy but I do not become one, I am not… not compromised. I am still a man grown, still able to think for myself and make decisions. 

“Admittedly, there are times when I am so deeply absorbed into what is happening that it is somewhat difficult, but when that happens d’Artagnan always makes sure that things go no further than I have previously agreed to. He has never once attempted to take things farther when I have been… down. He has, in fact, actively prevented me from doing so for fear that I was not capable of making the decision at the time.”

“I don’t like it when he hits you,” Porthos admitted, voicing one of the things that bothered him the most.

“Neither does he,” Aramis sighed. “He only does so at my express request, whether verbal or otherwise. He derives no joy from striking me. Quite the opposite, really. It… it pains him to treat me with what he considers to be blatant disrespect.”

“Then why does he agree to do it?” Porthos asked.

“Because I need it,” Aramis said softly, feeling his face warm in shame. He was glad he was in Porthos’ lap. At least this way he did not have to look at his lover right then.

“Aramis?”

“I am sorry,” Aramis replied. “I know this… this need in me is… is distasteful. I have tried to overcome it. I have prayed, so many prayers, asking God to take it from me. He has not seen fit to do so and I have failed at every attempt to… to stop myself from seeking such things.”

“Oh Aramis, no,” Porthos said, hugging him tightly. “Your needs, there is nothing wrong with them. There is nothing wrong with you, love. If I have made you feel as such, then I am so very sorry.”

Aramis stayed where he was, wrapped in Porthos’ arms. He could not help but feel that his desires, his unnatural needs, were the cause of his lover’s distress. He would have to find a way to stop. He would have to find a way to seek his penance that did not require d’Artagnan to mete out physical punishment. 

“I will not ask d’Artagnan to punish me again,” Aramis told him, hoping that would help ease Porthos’ mind. 

“Stop that,” Porthos told him, his voice rough. “Your needs are not wrong and I will not see you suffer because you worry for me.”

“I love you,” Aramis replied as if that was all that needed to be said.

“I love you, too,” Porthos told him. “Enough to learn how to deal with this, if you are willing to teach me.”

“I will teach you anything you wish to learn. Tell me what it is you want to know. What else troubles you?”

“I want to know what all that collar means,” Porthos said. “Is it permanent? Does it come off?”

“It is a sign of our bond,” Aramis explained. “My surrendering of myself to him and his vow of care to me. It is meant to be permanent but it can, and will come off as needed.”

“And if I wanted it to come off? Would that be a good enough reason?”

Aramis sat up in Porthos lap and met his eyes. He slowly reached behind his neck and unbuckled the collar. Pulling it off, he laid it down on the blanket beside them. “I will never ignore your wishes, in this or anything else,” Aramis told him. “If you wish the collar to come off then it shall. If you wish it to never grace my neck again, then I shall inform ma… d’Artagnan of such.”

Porthos said nothing, instead he pulled Aramis back against his chest then lay back on the blanket carrying him down with him so that they were laying together. “I have missed you,” he whispered as he nuzzled behind Aramis’ ear, kissing softly.

“I am so sorry,” Aramis said, shuddering at his lover’s touch. “I have not meant to neglect you.”

“You have done nothing of the sort,” Porthos assured him. “You needed time to heal, inside and out. I do not begrudge you that, nor do I begrudge the fact that it was the Whelp that you turned to the most during that time. I am only glad that one of us was able to be there for you.”

“I promise, I will not be so neglectful again,” Aramis told him.

“Don’t worry about me,” Porthos replied. “You need to concentrate on you, focus on healing and getting your head together. I am not going anywhere, love. I promise.”

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

“Is everything alright?” Athos asked when d’Artagnan joined him in the sitting room. He had heard the young man tell Porthos that Aramis was waiting for him in his glade. It was not difficult to tell that d’Artagnan was uneasy about their meeting as he sat down beside him.

“Too soon to tell really,” he replied. “It all depends on Porthos. Do not mistake me, it will be fine whatever he decides. I will see to it. I only worry for Aramis’ sake.”

“There is no shame in worrying for yourself,” Athos told him. “I know how much he has come to mean to you and I know you would give him up without hesitation if Porthos said it was his wish.”

“I would,” d’Artagnan nodded. “He will always be my brother. I hope. I can content myself to be that again if I must, if that is Porthos’ wish.”

“Sure you do not think he would go so far as that,” Athos said, appalled at the idea but suddenly worried as well. Porthos loved them all, but Aramis came first and he could be surprisingly possessive at times.

d’Artagnan shrugged. He knew he was likely making more out of this than it was but he could not seem to help it. He was afraid. While Aramis was not his entire world, as he was with Athos and Porthos, he was still precious to d’Artagnan and to lose him would be devastating.

“Can I ask what has prompted this?” Athos queried, breaking d’Artagnan from his thoughts. “I had thought things were going better.”

“It was the gift I got for him,” d’Artagnan explained. “I… I had a collar made for him. A permanent one. I doubt Porthos will take it well.”

“If you thought he might object, why get it in the first place?”

“Aramis wanted it,” d’Artagnan said simply. “His reaction when I used the belt… you did not see. It calmed him, the turmoil inside of him. How could I deny him something he wanted so badly?”

“Even if it ends up costing you everything?” Athos asked, trying to understand why he would take such a risk.

“I had to try,” he replied. “You did not see him. If you had, you would have risked it, too.”

“I wish there was something I could do to help,” Athos told him.

“Your very presence is a balm to me,” d’Artagnan said. He reached over and laced his hand with Athos’. “It always has been. Even when we are at odds, having you near eases me.”

“Come here,” Athos said, tugging on d’Artagnan’s hand. He quickly maneuvered them on the divan until they were resting with d’Artagnan lying between his legs, his back pressed to Athos’ chest. 

“You do the same for me, you know,” he continued. “You have ever since the ruins, since that first night at Father Andre’s when you lay beside me. I woke many times those nights, but always the feel of your strong arm around me soothed my fears.”

“Athos,” d’Artagnan moaned. He gripped the arm wrapped around his middle tightly. His lover’s words, spoken so earnestly, made his heart thunder in his chest. So many times they had tried to come together only for something else to drive them apart. He was so very tired of being apart from this man.

“What is it, love?” Athos whispered in his ear. “Tell me what I can do for you for once. You are forever worried for the lot of us. Allow me to show you the same care.”

“You do,” d’Artagnan insisted. “In every word, every touch. Every time you are patient with me when by rights you should grow frustrated. Every time you look at me and see a man who is somehow _worth_ you, means more to me than anything.”

“d’Artagnan, how can you give us all so much and yet expect so very little in return?”

“It is not little to me. When you have never had anything even… even close…”

“Oh, my beautiful boy,” Athos whispered then blushed when he realized what he had called him. “I’m sorry. I did not mean…”

“I do not mind,” d’Artagnan replied quietly. “It is nice to be precious every once in a while.”

“Every once…” Athos sputtered. “You are always precious to me. You have always been precious to me. You are as dear to me as any, d’Artagnan.”

“Not quite any,” d’Artagnan countered, his tone gentle. “But I do not mind coming second to my brothers.”

“You think… Of course you do,” Athos sighed. “For I have given you no indication otherwise. Nor he. God, I am a fool sometimes.”

“Athos?”

“You come second to no one, d’Artagnan. No one. Not even Aramis.”

“Athos, no,” d’Artagnan said, shaking his head. “You do not need to say such things to me. I know that I am loved and well, but I know he holds your heart in his hands.”

“Maybe. Once,” Athos admitted, “but not anymore. Not entirely. I thought he was the other half of my soul, the way he is for Porthos. I thought that, right up until I heard Porthos tell of you offering yourself in his place. Even though I knew it had not happened, that the danger had passed, I felt a fear grip my heart the likes of which I had never felt before.”

“I am so sorry,” d’Artagnan said. “My only thought was to try to keep them together, that one could not survive for long without the other. I thought, as long as you still had Aramis, you would be alright as well.”

“You would have been wrong,” Athos told him, his quiet words all but ringing in the stillness of the room.

“Athos,” d’Artagnan began hesitantly, “will you make love to me?” 

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

Aramis and Porthos spent a long time just lying together. Aramis had rolled over so that he was facing Porthos. He did not try to instigate anything, unsure suddenly how it might be received. He knew Porthos had said he had not neglected him, that his own needs had been more pressing, but it suddenly did not feel that way to Aramis.

“What’s wrong, love?” Porthos asked as he watched Aramis grow pensive. 

“Nothing,” Aramis said as he reached out and cupped Porthos’ face gently. 

“Tell me,” Porthos said.

“I still feel as though I have not done as I should by you,” Aramis said, suddenly finding something interesting to stare at on Porthos’ chest.

“Look at me,” Porthos told him.

Somewhat reluctantly, Aramis brought his eyes up to meet his lover’s. “I love you,” Porthos said. “You have not neglected me. You have needed to heal. Do you think I do not know how close we came yet again to losing you? You are everything to me and I do not even want to contemplate a life without you by my side.”

“Nor do I,” Aramis replied. He leaned forward then, closing the distance between them and placed a hesitant kiss on Porthos’ lips. When he made to pull back however, Porthos’ mouth opened beneath his and his arm tightened around him, pulling him flush against him.

“No,” Porthos growled as he held Aramis against him. He kissed him deeply, savoring the taste of his lover on his tongue and the feel of him in his arms. He could feel himself growing hard from this alone and ground himself against his lover.

“Oh Dios,” Aramis gasped as Porthos let go of his mouth and began to kiss and suck along his unscarred jaw and down the side of his neck. He could feel him, hard and insistent, against him and felt his own body responding. 

“Need to stop or I’ll take you right here,” Porthos panted as he forced himself to try to calm down.

Aramis was not doing much better as he rested his head against Porthos’ chest, his own breath coming out in rapid bursts. He was hard in his breeches, his cock heavy and aching, but he did not mind. Being like this, with Porthos, was worth the momentary discomfort.

“I would let you, you know,” he said once they had both managed to regain some semblance of control.

“Don’t,” Porthos told him, his voice stern. “Don’t ever let me take you like that, with nothing but spit to slick the way. I’m big, love. I’d hurt you too bad. Athos or the Whelp might be able to get away with it, but not me.”

“I love you,” Aramis said, kissing him softly before pulling back and sitting up. “Come on, let us head back to the house. I have it on good authority that there are plenty of things on hand there that can be used as such.”

Aramis got to his feet and stretched. He turned to head back toward the house then, leaving Porthos to gather their blanket. Porthos grinned at him from behind and reached down to snatch up the blanket. The sight of the collar tumbling to the ground stopped him in his tracks.

There was no way Aramis had forgotten about it. He knew his lover had felt the weight of it on his throat keenly. He would be feeling the lack of that weight even more so. The fact that he said nothing, turned his back on it as if willing to walk away and leave it lying in the dirt, told Porthos more than any words ever could.

“Aren’t you forgetting something, love?” Porthos called quietly as he reached down to pick it up from where it had fallen.

“Am I?” Aramis replied without turning around. 

“Yes,” Porthos said as he walked up behind him. He took Aramis by the hand and lifted it then placed the collar in it. “I would put it back on you myself but I figure that’d be bad form or something.”

“Are you certain?” Aramis asked, his voice shaking slightly.

“I’m sure, love,” Porthos told him. “If I wasn’t before, I am now. Seeing you willing to just walk away from it for me, to give me peace of mind, that tells me everything I need to know.”

Aramis closed his hand around the collar, gripping it tightly. He wanted it back on but he wanted d’Artagnan to be the one to do it. Even though he had taken it off, he needed his Master to be the one to put it back on him. 

“Don’t worry,” Porthos told him, putting his arm around him and pulling him close. “I’m sure the Whelp won’t mind putting it back on you when we get home.”

“Will you…”

“Will I what?” Porthos asked.

“Will you watch?” Aramis asked shyly. “When he puts it on me again, will you watch?”

“Do you want me to?” Porthos asked. “I kinda thought that was something between the two of you.”

“It is,” Aramis said. “But that does not mean I do not want you there as well.”

“Then I’ll be there,” Porthos told him. “If your Master doesn’t object, that is.”

They walked on for a few minutes, hand in hand, before a thought occurred to Porthos. “So, did he get you any other little surprises when he was in Paris?”

Aramis blushed hotly and ducked his head. He glanced sideways at Porthos and saw him smiling widely. He knew then that he would not be able to get away with not telling him. “He did,” he stalled.

“Come on, out with it,” Porthos laughed. “What else did he get you?”

“He got me two things actually,” Aramis admitted. “A pair of leather cuffs and… and a leash.”

“I see,” Porthos said. “I can’t say I’m overly thrilled about the leash, but I remember how much you liked it when he and Athos both would pull on the end of the belt so I guess that’s why he got it. I just… you’re not an animal, love, and things that make you seem like one, well, they’ll take me a little longer to get used to is all.”

“I understand,” Aramis said, surprised that Porthos had objected as little as he did. He did understand his lover’s misgivings about it. He had been quite clear on the matter and Aramis vowed to be patient with him. “But… you do not mind the cuffs?”

“Oh no,” Porthos grinned. “I don’t mind those at all.”

When they got back to the house, they found Athos and d’Artagnan still snuggled together on the sofa. d’Artagnan could not help but cringe when he saw Aramis’ collar in his hand rather than around his neck and steeled himself for whatever was to come. He felt Athos’ arms tighten around him and knew that, whatever it was, he would not have to face it alone.

“Christ, Whelp, it’s not that bad,” Porthos said. He had seen the heartbroken look that had passed over the boy’s face before he could hide it and it hurt his own heart. He knew it had to be killing Aramis not to go to him, to comfort him, right now.

“Perhaps we should all talk,” Athos said as he sat up, taking d’Artagnan with him as he did and making room on the divan for the other two.

“Yeah,” Porthos agreed. He took Aramis by the arm and moved him toward the other two, all but shoving him down next to d’Artagnan. “You don’t have to hold yourself back from him, love. Does everyone in this house think me such an ogre?”

“We think you a man who will do whatever he must to ensure he does not lose the other half of his soul,” d’Artagnan said. “And we do not fault you for that.”

“I would have put the collar back on him myself but I thought you’d want to do it,” Porthos said, not wanting d’Artagnan to spend one moment more thinking what he with Aramis was lost. “If I had known how badly it would hurt you to see him walk back in here without it, I would have.”

“What?” d’Artagnan asked in disbelief.

“I can’t say I’m thrilled about the leash, okay,” Porthos admitted. “And I still don’t like it when you hit him, but I understand that. I, uh, I may want to borrow those cuffs sometime though. If you don’t mind, that is.”

“Cuffs?” Athos repeated, the thought sending an unbidden thrill through him.

“Yeah, Whelp got him a couple accessories for his pretty collar,” Porthos told him. “He’ll have to show them to us. But first, I think he needs to put that back on Aramis’ neck where it belongs.”

“You do not mind?” d’Artagnan asked, somewhat shocked by this turn of events. He had imagined a great many scenarios in his head, but this had not been one of them.

“I don’t mind,” Porthos told him. “Can’t say I won’t want him to take it off every now and again, but I don’t mind. He, uh, he said he wanted me there when you put it back on him. Is that okay?”

“Yes. Yes, of course,” d’Artagnan said at once. He would gladly allow Porthos to be there for any part of this he wished, especially if it helped make the man more comfortable with everything. 

Aramis held the collar out to his Master and d’Artagnan took it. He was a bit embarrassed to see his hand was shaking slightly when he did so. He felt Athos squeeze his shoulder and looked back at him gratefully. He looked at Porthos as well and saw only encouragement in his eyes and felt the last of his fear dissipate.

“Will you kneel for me?” d’Artagnan asked Aramis. This was not something he would demand of him. The choice would always belong to Aramis.

Aramis slid off the divan and onto his knees in front of d’Artagnan. He bowed his head as he had before and waited. He breathed slowly, in and out, centering himself. He had to choke back a moan when he felt the leather wrap around his throat once more. When it was buckled in place, he felt his Master’s hand beneath his chin lifting his head. 

“Beautiful Boy,” d’Artagnan breathed, his eyes overly bright as he cupped Aramis’ face with his palm.

“You feel up to showing us those other things the Whelp got you?” Porthos asked. He could tell Aramis needed a moment to get his emotions back under control and hoped to distract him.

“Let me get them,” d’Artagnan said. 

“Master?”

“I, uh, I have something for Athos as well,” d’Artagnan explained. He had not missed Athos’ reaction when Porthos had mentioned the cuffs. It had been subtle but d’Artagnan had seen it nonetheless. He thought now might be the ideal time to show them to the man and see if he truly liked them.

d’Artagnan helped Aramis back up and onto the divan then hurried to the room where he had put the things he had purchased. He gathered the ones for Aramis then pulled the black leather cuffs out of the bag. He paused for a moment to steady himself then returned to the sitting room and his lovers.

When he made it back, he found Athos and Porthos both anxiously awaiting him. Aramis could only grin at how eager the pair seemed, pleased beyond measure that Porthos had found something about all of this that he might actually enjoy. 

“You know what the Whelp’s got for him?” he heard Porthos ask as he walked in.

“I’ve no idea,” Aramis replied. “I hadn’t even known he had gotten anything at all.”

d’Artagnan walked over to Porthos and handed him the leather cuffs and leash he had purchased for Aramis, keeping the ones for Athos carefully tucked in his injured hand for now. “What do you think?” he asked as he watched Porthos look them over.

“Nice,” Porthos said as he turned the cuffs over in his hands after setting the leash aside for the moment. “Good workmanship. They’re soft enough they won’t chafe him. You paid a lot of money for these.”

“He deserves the best,” d’Artagnan shrugged.

Porthos set the cuffs aside and picked up the leash. It was a good four feet long and made of the same supple brown leather as the collar and cuffs. He could easily picture it fastened to Aramis’ collar, the other end wrapped around d’Artagnan’s fist. For some reason, the thought of that was not as unsettling as he expected. Perhaps it was the knowledge that this really was something Aramis wanted and not merely something he was enduring for the sake of the boy.

Leaving Porthos to his inspection, d’Artagnan sat down beside Athos once more. He took a breath then held out the black leather cuffs. He heard Aramis draw in a sharp breath of his own next to him but he ignored it, concentrating solely on Athos. He had started to grow fearful before Athos finally reached out and took them from him.

“You got these for me?” he asked, his voice filled with wonder.

“Yes,” d’Artagnan replied. “I will understand if you do not want them, though.”

“I don’t think you need to worry about that, lad,” Porthos said as he watched the pair. Even Aramis seemed affected by them, not that Porthos could fault him for that. The thought of Athos like that was certainly an appealing one, even to him.

“You like them?” d’Artagnan asked after a moment. He could see the effect they were having on his lover, the slight flush to his skin and labored breathing, but he still needed to hear the words. He had to know this was something Athos wanted.

“Yes, very much,” Athos answered. “I am rather surprised at how much to be honest. I have never really been one for such things though I have not allowed myself the… luxury often.”

“No,” Aramis agreed. “It can be difficult to know who one can trust in such matters. To choose unwisely could be deadly.”

“Well neither of you has to worry about that any longer,” Porthos said. “Whatever you need, whatever you want, we will find a way. Won’t we, Whelp?”

“Always,” d’Artagnan vowed. “There is no need you cannot come to me with that I will not find a way to meet. None of you.”

“And what of your needs?” Athos asked.

“Did we not already discuss this?” d’Artagnan said, smiling softly at him. “You give me so much more than I have ever had, Athos, than I had ever hoped to have. All of you do. I need nothing more than I have here and now.”

“d’Artagnan,” Aramis whispered. He caressed the side of his face and gently turned him toward him then he leaned forward and slowly kissed him. “Tell us a fantasy. Just one. You have heard any number of all of ours, but we have yet to hear one of yours. Will you share one with us, love?”

“I…” d’Artagnan began then stopped, unsure what to say. He did not want to disappoint them but his fantasies, he had learned long ago that they were things best kept hidden.

“It’s alright,” Athos told him, sensing his growing distress. He gathered d’Artagnan back in his arms and pulled him flush against him. “You never have to share more with us than you wish to. But, love, we would never judge you, no matter what it is you might wish for.”

Aramis nodded his agreement. He watched the pair closely, his eyes narrowing as he took in the almost possessive way Athos clung to their youngest. The man had not been so clinging with the other in a long while and Aramis wondered what might have gone on while he and Porthos were away. He felt Porthos’ arms slip around his waist and let himself be pulled back so that he was leaning back against him. It felt nice to be held like this again, he and d’Artagnan across from one another, but held securely within the arms of their respective lovers.

As he lay back against Porthos, he let his eyes fall shut. This, too, felt good. To simply relax and be without worry or fear or sadness. He had not realized how stressed he had become with everything. It was a wonder the lot of them had not succumbed to a fit of nerves after everything they had been through. And the worst part was, he knew they were not out of the woods yet. He was better, to be sure, but he was still healing, still struggling with accepting everything that had happened. Even now, he had yet to look at himself in a mirror for more than fleeting glance, too horrified at what he might see reflected back at him. 

“’Mis?” Porthos called softly. He had felt his lover tensing in his arms and frowned. 

“I am alright,” Aramis said opening his eyes. “I was only thinking. We have come so far and yet we… I… still have so far to go.”

“We,” d’Artagnan told him. “We are with you always. And you are right, you have come far so give yourself credit for that. The rest will come in time.”

Aramis started to say something then paused. He looked again at the way the pair across from him were holding each other, Athos’ arms wrapped around d’Artagnan, d’Artagnan’s hands gripping onto him in return. When he looked up at Athos’ face, he saw a longing that surprised him and felt an ache for his brothers.

Deciding his brothers deserved some time to themselves, Aramis extricated himself from Porthos’ arms. He kissed is lover briefly then picked up the cuffs and leash and went to return them to d’Artagnan’s room. Once there, he set the leash on the bureau and slipped the leather cuffs on his wrists. Taking a vial of oil from the nightstand, he secreted it in his pocket before walking back to the door of the sitting room.

He smiled again when he took in Athos and d’Artagnan then looked at Porthos and let his gaze turn playful. Holding up his hands so that Porthos could see the cuffs adorning his wrists, his grin widened. “If you catch me,” he said saucily. “You can have me.”

With that, Aramis turned and sprinted for the door, tearing through the house, trying to put as much distance between himself and Porthos as he could. He knew his lover would be hot on his heels in no time and he wanted to gain at least a little distance from the house before the man took him down. 

Porthos stared after his lover for a heartbeat then he was up and running after him. He heard Athos and d’Artagnan laughing behind him and grinned. He hoped Aramis had thought to bring some oil with him because there was no way this was not ending with his lover getting thoroughly fucked once Porthos got his hands on him.

“I do hope Aramis knows what he has gotten himself into,” Athos chuckled.

“I believe he is much more concerned with what Porthos is going to be getting into,” d’Artagnan replied cheekily.

“There is my impossible brat,” Athos grinned. He leaned over d’Artagnan’s shoulder and kissed him, moaning when he felt the other man’s tongue stroke along his own. Between the leather cuffs the lad had presented him and their talk from earlier, Athos was having a hard time reining in his desire. He could feel himself growing hard and had to fight not to grind himself against the other man.

“Athos,” d’Artagnan gasped when he finally managed to pull his mouth away. “Please. I want you.”

“Anything,” Athos replied, laying his head against d’Artagnan’s temple. 

“Can we go to our room?”

Athos felt a wave of desire crash through him at d’Artagnan’s words. He had to stop for a moment just to breathe. When he had managed to get a sliver of control back, he pulled his lover into a bruising kiss, making sure the other man knew just how badly he was wanted in return.

Knowing they needed to move while they still had the wherewithal to, Athos broke their kiss with a growl. “Come on,” he said as he pushed d’Artagnan forward then got to his feet. Mindful of his lover’s injuries, he helped him to his feet and held him by his uninjured hand as he led him to the room that had once been theirs.

Once they were inside, Athos sat d’Artagnan down on the side of the bed then locked the door insuring they would not be disturbed should their brothers return earlier than expected. That done, he moved over to d’Artagnan and began gently untying the laces at his cuffs. 

“I can do that,” d’Artagnan huffed good-naturedly.

“I know you can,” Athos told him as he continued. “But I would very much like the honor of undressing you. If you do not mind.”

“I do not mind,” d’Artagnan replied in a strained voice. He was not used to Athos taking such care with him. He normally reserved his gentleness for Aramis. To be on the receiving end of it made something flutter low in d’Artagnan’s stomach.

Once Athos had his sleeves loosened, he helped him out of his shirt, being careful not to jostle his injured arm. “Stand up so I can remove the rest,” he said softly as he sat back to give d’Artagnan room to do so.

d’Artagnan got to his feet, blushing slightly when he looked down at Athos kneeling in front of him. He knew it was foolish to blush like this. It was certainly not the first time Athos had been on his knees for him, but this time felt so very different. This was not play. This was not atonement. This was not even just sex. It was something so much more for the both of them and it made d’Artagnan shake to even think of it.

Athos held onto his hips, steadying him. “Are you alright?” he asked when he felt him shaking. He looked up and saw d’Artagnan nod so he turned back to the task at hand. Using the same care as he had with the shirt, he began undoing his lover’s breeches. Once he had them loosened, he unlaced his smalls as well and tugged the lot of it over his hips and down his legs. 

Keeping a hand on d’Artagnan’s hip in case he suddenly lost his balance, Athos helped him step out of the rest of his clothes. When his young lover was naked, he sat back once more and spent a moment simply admiring him. Aramis may be passion personified but d’Artagnan was everything light and good and right in Athos’ world and he could happily spend the rest of his life simply looking at him.

“Athos?”

“You are beautiful,” Athos said as he rose gracefully to his feet.

d’Artagnan blushed harder at the compliment and looked away. This was something else he was not used to having aimed in his direction and he was not sure how to react. He felt a hand cup his cheek then Athos was lifting his face and kissing him tenderly again before pulling away with a sigh.

“Lie back on the bed,” he said as he took him by the arm and helped him maneuver, keeping him from putting any weight on his injured hand. As soon as d’Artagnan was resting comfortably, he straightened and began removing his own clothes with a great deal less care than he had d’Artagnan’s. Just before he climbed onto the bed, he took the oil out of the drawer of the nightstand and set it on top of it. 

“You still want…” d’Artagnan asked, trailing off.

“Only if you do,” Athos told him as he stretched out next to him on his side. He had laid the younger man out on his back to keep him from doing any further injury to himself as well as to allow Athos the most unimpeded access to him. If he still wished their union then Athos was more than willing but if he did not, then he was perfectly content to lie here like this.

“I want you,” d’Artagnan told him again, his eyes darkening in lust at the thought of Athos taking him. None of his brothers had touched him in such a manner. In fact, he had only ever been taken in such a way once and it had been back when he had first joined the trio, back before he had even earned his commission. To finally share this with Athos was something he had been dreaming of for months.

“You have me, my love,” Athos told him, lifting his uninjured hand and kissing his fingers. “And you may have me in any manner you wish. I do not have to take you if you are not ready for that.”

“I am long past ready,” he replied. “I ache for you, Athos. Won’t you please fill me up?”

Athos could no more deny that plea than he could stop the moon from rising. He rose up on one arm then leaned down so he could kiss d’Artagnan without putting any weight on him. They spent long moments like that, just kissing, enjoying the taste and feel of each other. Finally, Athos pulled back and began kissing his way down his lover’s neck.

He was careful to stay on his uninjured side, as much as he had one really, simply trying to avoid any contact with his hand. He kissed his neck and shoulder then moved down his chest, licking and suckling at his nipples until d’Artagnan began to writhe and moan beneath him. He kissed his way down his chest to his stomach, nipping at the hard muscles he found along the way. His lover was lean and fit, a man in his prime, and Athos wondered anew what he saw in one such as himself.

As he moved lower, he spread d’Artagnan’s legs so he could lie between them. His lover gave a throaty moan when Athos licked a stripe up his flushed cock, making it jerk against his belly. As much as he would love to have that hot, hard flesh in his mouth he did not give in to temptation. He wanted something else for them this time and if he took his love into his mouth, he would not be able to resist making him spend that way.

Sitting up, he reached over to the table and grabbed the oil. He set the bottle on the bed next to him then pushed d’Artagnan’s thighs up and apart, baring him to his gaze and making Athos’ mouth water for an entirely different reason. Unable to resist, he leaned down and nuzzled at his lover’s bollocks, licking and sucking them into his mouth before moving lower still.

He felt d’Artagnan go completely still as he ghosted his mouth lower. He paused for a moment, then let his tongue come out and swipe at his lover’s exposed hole. The shout he pulled from d’Artagnan made his own cock throb and he did it again just to see if he could get that sound from him once more.

d’Artagnan did not disappoint, shouting loudly as he tried to buck his hips, trying to feel more of Athos’ agile tongue. Athos chuckled as his lover tried to move, pressing his thighs back even more so that he was both held in place and held open for Athos to do with as he pleased.

“Do you like that, love?” Athos asked as he began to lick over his lover’s hole more and more. “Do you like the feeling of my tongue on you here? Do you like knowing I am tasting every part of you?”

“Yes,” d’Artagnan sobbed as he tried to buck his hips up again and failed. Athos was holding him down too tightly for him to move. He wanted to both scream and cry with the feel of him, with what he was doing to him. It felt like every nerve in his body had come alive and was right there under Athos’ tongue.

“If I did not have other plans for you,” Athos began as he pulled back, letting d’Artagnan’s legs come back down. “I would make you spend on my tongue. Then I would rock my fingers inside of you until you grew hard once more so I could make you spend on my tongue again.”

“Please… please…”

“Will you let me do that one day?” Athos asked, tormenting him with his voice as he took up the oil and began slicking his fingers. “Will you let me spread you wide and see how many times I can make you spend writhing on my tongue?”

“Yes,” d’Artagnan gasped, shaking anew at the thought of such a thing. 

Athos let his hand slip down between his cheeks, along his cleft. He let his finger gently circle his lover’s hole. When he felt it begin to relax at his touch, he pressed in, letting his finger breech him. He sank into him up to his second knuckle before he stopped, relishing the feel of him, tight and hot around his finger. He could feel his body clenching down on him and waited for him to begin to relax once more before he pressed forward again, sinking his finger the rest of the way inside him.

Carefully, Athos began to prepare him, sliding his finger in and out in a prelude of what was to come. He quickly managed to go from one finger to two but had to slow down then as d’Artagnan’s body began to resist. Pulling his fingers free, he poured more oil onto them then slowly pushed them back inside, wincing at the slight hiss of discomfort from the other man.

“Do you need me to stop?” Athos asked. The last thing he wanted was to cause d’Artagnan pain in this, to prove himself the brute his wife had always made him out to be. 

“No,” d’Artagnan told him at once. “I want you, I do. Just… can you talk to me?”

“You are amazing,” Athos told him as he gently began to move his fingers, just barely breeching him with them for now. “You have no idea how much your presence in my life has changed me… how very much you mean to me. Even when you pull back from us, when we hurt you and you feel the need to hide, I know that you are still near, that if I need you I can come to you.”

Athos felt d’Artagnan’s body begin to relax and pushed his fingers in more, stretching him a bit further. “I love you so very much,” he continued. “I have since those nights after the ruins though I blinded myself to it and called it brotherhood. I would have contented myself with that, with whatever you would have offered me. That you would offer me this, your heart, it humbles me, d’Artagnan.”

“Athos… Athos, I love you so much. I… I always have,” d’Artagnan admitted. “I… I did not want to tell you. Not… not before. You loved Aramis. He was everything to you and I knew, if I told you that you were the same to me, you would feel guilty about it. I did not want that so I held my tongue, but it was true even then.”

“Oh, love, I am so sorry I hurt you.”

“No. Do not apologize for following the dictates of your heart,” d’Artagnan told him. “I would have it no other way. You loved me as much as you could. That was enough for me. Even if you never returned the true feelings I had for you, it always would have been enough for me.”

Athos finally felt d’Artagnan’s body relaxing fully for him and was able to push his fingers inside him that final bit. He still went slowly, mindful of the pain he had caused him before. He did not want his lover to feel pain with this act. Not from him. Not ever from him. 

“I know that Aramis is precious to you,” Athos continued. “I would never seek to usurp that.”

“I know,” d’Artagnan assured him. “What I have with Aramis, it is different. I love him. Truly I do. He is precious to me. But I also have a duty to him that I will not forsake. I know you understand that as well.”

“I do and I accept it without reservation. You never need worry of that. I love him as well and would never see the bond you have with him broken if it was in my power to do so.” His fingers were moving inside him with ease now and Athos thought his lover ready for him. He was suddenly nervous though, all of his old fears coming back once more.

“You have nothing to be afraid of,” d’Artagnan told him. “I trust you completely. You will not hurt me. Besides, I am not some delicate flower. I will not wilt with a little rough handling.”

“I know but I do not wish to cause you pain in this. I do not wish to be rough with you, my love.”

“Then you will not be,” his lover assured him. “Do not be afraid. There may be a little discomfort at first. I do not believe that can be altogether avoided, but you will not hurt me. You will not cause me pain in this because if you start to, I shall tell you at once. I will not let you falter, Athos. I promise.”

Athos removed his fingers, wiping them on the blanket and moved up to kiss d’Artagnan. He kissed him softly, taking long moment to explore his mouth, tasting him until they were both moaning. Finally, he sat back and took up the oil one last time. With a slightly shaking hand he slicked his cock and had to bite back another moan as his lover spread his legs, pulling them up so he was laid bare before him.

Moving up, Athos placed himself at the entrance to his lover’s body and pushed. He felt the muscles resist then d’Artagnan relaxed and he was sliding inside, breeching him for the first time. He stopped when no more than the head was inside, giving the other man’s body a chance to adjust. Only when he felt his lover’s body relax around him did he push in a bit more. He paused whenever he felt him tense beneath him and waited for him to relax again, determined not to cause pain. 

At last, Athos slid the rest of the way inside him, his body flush against d’Artagnan’s own. Both of them were shaking, yet Athos did not know if it was from the torturously slow penetration or the overwhelming emotions of finally joining with his lover. 

“Talk to me,” he pled, his voice strained, needing to hear from d’Artagnan’s own lips before he could continue.

“Athos…” d’Artagnan moaned, his own voice rough and low. “You feel so good inside me. So right. I never knew… never imagined it could feel like this. I… I feel as though I will spend the moment you even try to move.”

“I do not believe I will last much longer myself,” Athos admitted, huffing out a strangled laugh. “I fear you may think me more eager boy than a man grown with this showing.”

“Please,” d’Artagnan begged. “Please take me. Let me feel you spend inside me. Make me yours at last.”

Athos leaned down and kissed him again, deep and hungry, no longer able to hold back. His body was crying out that he move, that he find his release and he could no longer deny it. Slowly, he pulled back then thrust forward causing d’Artagnan to cry out into his mouth. Athos swallowed down his shout and did it again, groaning when d’Artagnan did so as well.

Raising himself up onto his arms so he could watch the other man as he made love to him, he began to move faster though he was still mindful not to thrust too hard. The sight of d’Artagnan’s face screwed up in please as it thrashed back and forth was nearly his undoing and he snapped his hips forward hard and fast before he could stop himself.

d’Artagnan gasped out at the feel of Athos slamming into him and could hold on no longer. He began to spend helplessly, striping his belly and chest as his body clenched around the hardness moving inside of him.

The feel of d’Artagnan’s body clenching around him as he thrust combined with the sight of him spending on himself without so much as a hand on his cock was more than Athos could withstand. With a last hard thrust, he buried himself to the hilt and began to spend, groaning low and filthy as he filled his lover’s body with his seed.

When it was over, he could barley support himself on his shaking arms. Still, he lowered himself down one last time and placed a kiss to his lover’s lips then he levered himself up and began to slowly pull himself free. He was expecting the wince of discomfort he saw pass over d’Artagnan’s face but it still made his heart ache and he rubbed his thigh soothingly. 

Taking an edge of the blanket, he wiped him carefully then quickly cleaned himself. He would bathe d’Artagnan thoroughly later. For now, he wanted to lie with him and hold him in his arms. Moving up beside him, he gathered him into his arms and felt his heart seize when he burrowed into his chest. They did not speak. They did not need to. That would come later. Right now, this was enough.

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

Aramis ran. He headed straight for the glade, cutting through the woods, knowing the trees would provide at least some cover. He had thought about heading for the barn, but the smell of horses did not provide for the most romantic of settings. Not that he expected this particular encounter to be romantic. Not in the least. 

Once he hit the tree line, he began to cut a weaving path. He knew Porthos would know where he was headed and hoped he would guess him to be taking the most direct route there. He wanted his lover to have to put some effort into it. 

He wanted Porthos to have to hunt for him. 

He wanted Porthos worked up by the time he finally found him. 

He wanted Porthos to take him down hard and then just take him. 

He had taken him just the day before, and somewhat roughly at that, but he had still held back. Aramis did not want him to hold back. Not this time. He was aware that the marks on his ass would still be quite vivid, having started to bruise. He hoped to have Porthos so worked up by the time he found him that he would not even care. He only hoped the oil he had brought with would be enough. If not, well, he would not mind a bit of a rough ride as it were.

He heard when Porthos broke into the tree line. The bigger man was not bothering to be quiet, letting Aramis know he was coming for him. Aramis slowed, quieting his own movements, not wanting to give himself away. He slipped behind a tree and watched. He could not see Porthos, but he saw the brush moving in the distance and smiled. He had been right so far, Porthos was heading directly toward the glade. He would not be happy when he got there and found it empty. 

As quietly as he could, Aramis made his way toward the far end of the glade. He would have to let Porthos catch sight of him at some point so he could give chase again. After all, he did want to be caught at some point. As he moved closer, intent on watching Porthos’ progress, he failed to keep an eye on the terrain in front of him and set his foot down hard on dry kindling. The resultant snapping sound froze him in place. More importantly, however, it froze the movement across the way as well meaning Porthos had heard him, too.

Knowing his ruse was up, Aramis opted for speed over stealth and sprinted through the woods once more. He weaved his way around the trees, but the density of the forest slowed him down, allowing Porthos to close the distance between them. He could hear the man getting closer so turned toward the glade. If he could get out in the open, he could put some more distance between them.

Porthos, however, seemed to sense his intent and shifted his path as well. Instead of chasing Aramis directly, he cut a diagonal path toward the glade hoping to intercept him. Aramis was so focused on his own flight that he did not notice when the sound of Porthos behind him began to diminish. When he broke out of the trees and into the glade, it was to find his lover waiting for him, an almost feral look in his eyes that brought Aramis up short even as it made lust coil in his belly and tighten his breeches.

“You made me chase you,” Porthos growled as he stalked over to him and grabbed him by the back of the neck. “But I caught you which means I get to have you. I sincerely hope you brought something with you or I’ll be using your own spend to slick the way.”

“I did,” Aramis said swallowing thickly. “Though I am tempted to say I didn’t after that.”

“You like that thought, do you?” Porthos grinned. “Me stroking your cock until you spend in my hand then working your pretty little hole open with it.”

“Oh fuck,” Aramis panted. “Yes. Yes, I do. Very much.”

“Duly noted,” Porthos told him. “But right now, I think you need to be taught a lesson.”

“What lesson is that?” Aramis asked. His cock was painfully hard in his breeches and he was barely able to keep from gripping himself. 

“What happens when you make me chase you,” Porthos told him. “You wanted me to work for it. Well I did. Now you get to make it worth all the effort I put into it. You ready for that, Boy?”

“Yes, Sir,” Aramis answered, starting to pant.

“You wore your pretty cuffs for me, too. I was going to cuff your arms behind your back again and fuck you till you screamed. But I got a better idea.”

“What… what is that, Sir?”

“I think I’ll cuff you to a tree and fuck you standing up,” Porthos whispered in his ear, his breath ghosting across it causing Aramis to shiver. “Make you stand on your toes while I fuck you. You think you can take it, Boy?”

“Oh God,” Aramis gasped, his knees nearly buckling at the thought.

“Well?” Porthos asked, his hand tightening on the back of his neck and giving him a shake. He knew why Aramis had made him chase him like this. He knew what his lover wanted from him and he was more than willing to give it to him. 

“Yes, Sir,” Aramis said. “Yes, Sir. Please. Oh, please.”

That was enough for Porthos. He spun Aramis around and shoved him back toward the trees. He scanned them for one with a high enough branch that when he cuffed his lover’s hands over it, it would force the man up onto his toes. Aramis, of course, would not be able to maintain the position for long, but that was alright. Once he was inside him, Porthos would be able to hold him up if need be.

Porthos quickly found a suitable tree and shoved Aramis up against it. He lifted his arms above it, forcing him up onto his toes then fastened the cuffs together over it. He gave the branch a quick tug to make sure it wouldn’t break then stood back to admire his lover. Even fully clothed, Aramis like this was a sight to behold. Stretched out and virtually helpless, completely at Porthos’ mercy, it made him want to strip him bare and see how many of his own marks he could cover him with.

“Where’s the slick?” he asked as he came up behind him and pressed himself against his lover.

“In my pocked,” Aramis said, biting back a moan as he did so.

Porthos took out the oil and slipped it into his own pocked then knelt down and began removing Aramis’ boots. He felt his lover tense in surprise and grinned. He hadn’t expected that and he was pleased at having surprised him. Once his boots where off, he made quick work of his breeches and smalls as well and soon Aramis was standing in nothing but his shirt. Porthos frowned at the realization that he couldn’t remove the shirt without taking Aramis’ hands back down and he didn’t want to do that. Well, he couldn’t remove the shirt but that didn’t mean it had to stay in one piece. 

“I would hold very still if I were you,” he said as he pulled his knife from his belt. 

Aramis went completely still when he heard Porthos’ blade being drawn. He had a moment of panic but it quickly passed. This was Porthos. He could not possibly be safer were he in the arms of an actual angel. He felt his shirt being pulled away from his body then heard the sound of a blade slicing through cloth. A moment later his shirt fell open and Aramis realized that Porthos had cut his shirt apart in back, leaving him completely bared to him. 

“Much better,” Porthos said more to himself than Aramis as he started to sheath his knife. He studied Aramis, the way his whole body was still tense and his breath still coming in short panting gusts and brought the knife back to rest between his shoulders.

Aramis could not bite back his moan this time as he felt Porthos’ knife against his back. He stayed still, not wanting to make his lover cut him on accident. No, if Porthos cut him it would be because he chose to do so. Even so, it was hard to quell the shaking in his body as he felt that sharp blade begin to trail along his spine. 

He actually whined when Porthos let his slide over the welts still clearly visible on his ass and locked his legs in place. He could feel his cock jerking against his belly as his lover continued to torment him, running the blade over him and sending a spike of fear through him even though he knew he was safe.

“You like that,” Porthos said as he drew the knife away and sheathed it. He fisted his hand in Aramis’ hair and jerked his head back sharply causing him to gasp. “You like the feel of my blade against your skin, wondering what I’ll do. Don’t you, Boy?”

“Ye-ye-yes, Sir,” Aramis stammered, already nearly undone and Porthos had hardly even touched him.

“Such a perfect little slut,” Porthos chuckled. “Just begging to be fucked.”

Porthos released him and took a step back. He took the oil from his pocket and slicked up two of his fingers. He knew Aramis would still be slightly stretched from the previous day. More importantly, he knew his lover wanted it rough.

Porthos stepped closer again and kicked his legs a bit farther apart, causing Aramis to have to strain up on his toes even more. There was no way he could hold that for long, especially when Porthos started fucking him. Porthos couldn’t wait to feel him sink down on his cock, Aramis’ own body weight causing him to take Porthos deeper than he ever had before.

Spreading his cheeks, Porthos rubbed at Aramis’ hole with his slick fingers then abruptly shoved the two inside him. He grinned when Aramis shouted and rose up on his toes as much as he could, instinctively moving away from the intrusion. Porthos moved with him, burying his fingers to the hilt inside of him, forcing his body to yield to him as Aramis moaned and gasped and shook.

“I’m going to fuck you up against this tree,” Porthos whispered in his ear as he moved his fingers in and out hard and fast, giving Aramis no time to adjust. “I’m going to take you, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Madre de Dios,” Aramis panted, his hands flexing in the cuffs as his body was taken by Porthos’ broad fingers. Porthos was right. There was nothing he could do. He was completely at Porthos’ mercy, tied and spread and utterly helpless.

“Poor little slut,” Porthos laughed darkly. “Hands tied, barely able to stand, all spread out for me. I bet your cock is just aching for attention. I bet if I so much as touched you right now you’d spend all over this tree.”

Before Aramis could reply, Porthos pulled his fingers free. He wiped his fingers on Aramis’ shirt, making sure he saw him do it, enjoying the hot flush it produced in the other man. He quickly opened his breeches and smalls and slid them down his thighs, exposing his own hard cock. Taking the oil, he slicked himself up then spread Aramis’ cheeks once more.

Nestling his cock against Aramis’ hole, he paused. “If you don’t want to be spitted on my cock, I suggest you try to hold yourself up by that branch,” he told him. He gave Aramis a moment to digest what he said then he was shoving into him hard, burying himself half way with a single thrust.

Aramis could not hold in his scream when Porthos shoved into him. It tore out of him as his body was taken. Porthos felt huge inside of him, impossibly large, and Aramis struggled against him, rising up on his toes as far as he could and pulling against the branch in a futile effort to move away.

Porthos laughed and gripped him by the hips, jerking him back down on him as much as his imprisoned arms would allow and pulling another anguished scream from him. He turned his head and winced, not wanting Aramis to see his reaction, but he did not shy away. He knew this was what his lover wanted. If it wasn’t, Aramis would be telling him to stop rather than simply struggling in his grip.

“No escape for you, Boy,” Porthos said as he pulled back only to shove forward again, burying himself deeper still. “I caught you and now I’m having you.” 

With a last brutal shove, Porthos buried himself to the hilt inside of Aramis’ clenching body. He held himself there, enjoying the feel of his lover spasming around him. Aramis was keening and still struggling to get away but his struggles grew weaker with every passing moment as he slowly gave in to the inevitable. 

“Good slut,” Porthos said when he finally stopped fighting him. “You can’t get away. You’re mine and I mean to have you. Tell me, Boy, is your cock still hard? Are you getting off on me just taking what I want?”

“Yes,” Aramis sobbed, ashamed to admit that he was still achingly hard despite the roughness of Porthos’ penetration. It had hurt. But it had also been what he wanted, what he needed and he could not deny his visceral enjoyment of it.

“Heh. I’ll tell you a secret,” Porthos whispered in his ear. “Your Master, he likes it when I take what I want, too.”

“Ohhh,” Aramis whined. Porthos’ words sent a decadent thrill through him as he imagined what it would be like for both of them to be like this, him and his Master, side by side, being held down and taken.

“Do you like that? Do you like the thought of your Master spread out for me, held down, taking whatever I choose to give him?”

“Yes, Sir,” Aramis moaned, pushing back the slightest bit against Porthos as the images continued to play in his mind.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” Porthos warned him. “I suggest you get a good grip on that branch.”

Aramis took hold of the branch as best he could. He only had a few seconds before Porthos pulled back and slammed forward. It was hard enough to lift him off his feet, jolting him forward. He gasped and gripped the branch harder, trying to hold himself up as Porthos began to pound into him.

Porthos gripped Aramis’ hips tightly, holding him steady as he began to fuck him. He pulled back until just the head of his cock remained inside of him then snapped his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt once more. He felt Aramis rock forward, scrambling for purchase as the force of it threatened to upset his precarious balance. 

Letting go of his hips, Porthos reached down and slid his hands around his lover’s thighs and lifted. He heard Aramis suck in a breath as Porthos held him up. He spread his legs even wider, allowing his cock to plunge in that much deeper, making Aramis gasp and moan at the feel of Porthos so deep inside of him. 

For long minutes, Porthos simply held him up and fucked him, snapping his hips forward in an almost brutal rhythm. Aramis was gasping with every thrust, the breath literally pushed from his lungs but Porthos refused to let up, giving his lover exactly what he had asked for.

“Gonna let go of you now,” Porthos told him. “Up to you to hold yourself up.” That said, Porthos relaxed his grip, though he did not let go of Aramis entirely. He did not want to take a chance on actually hurting him. He did, however, allow Aramis to try to hold himself up and for his body weight to bear him down even further on Porthos’ cock.

“So fucking deep,” Porthos moaned when he felt Aramis sinking down even further on his cock as he lost the battle to hold himself up. “Can you feel me how deep I am, Aramis? Can you fucking _taste_ my cock?”

“Yes,” Aramis sobbed. He felt tears sting his eyes as his body was forced to take Porthos in deeper still. His lover had never been so far inside of him. No one had. He had never thought to feel something so intense and he honestly was not sure how much more he could withstand.

“Such a good fucking whore,” Porthos growled as he fucked him. “Moaning and writhing on my cock, just taking it while I pound you.”

“Porthos…” 

“Is your cock still hard?” Porthos asked him. He could feel his bollocks growing tight, his release approaching, and he wanted to make sure Aramis was there as well. “I bet you wish you could touch it. But you can’t, can you? Not with your hands all tied up like that. And I can’t either, not and help hold you up. If you want to spend, looks like you’ll have to do it on my cock. Think a good little whore like you can manage that?”

“Please,” Aramis begged, letting his head fall back onto Porthos shoulder. He could feel tears leaking from the corners of his eyes and running down his temples into his hair. It wasn’t the pain, that had ceased some time ago, it was the culmination of everything as he simply let go.

“Spend for me,” Porthos told him as he bore his weight once more and began to fuck up into him as hard as he could. He heard Aramis shout then he felt his lover’s body start to clench around him as he began to spend.

Aramis had only a second to register Porthos’ words before he was obeying, his body nearly convulsing as he began to spend. He could feel himself clenching down on the thickness inside of him and shouted as his bruised body began to ache anew. He could feel Porthos still fucking him relentlessly as he spent, plowing into him and Aramis began to fear that he might actually pass out from sheer sensory overload before his lover finished with him.

Luckily for him, it was only the matter of a few more hard strokes before Porthos slammed forward and began to spend as well. He continued to hold Aramis up as he did so, not wanting to let his exhausted lover drop, knowing he could not support himself just yet. He could feel Aramis shaking in his arms and tightened his hold a little bit more.

“It’s alright,” Porthos whispered. “I’ve got you. I won’t let you fall.”

“You never let me fall,” Aramis whispered back, his voice somewhat hoarse.

By the time they headed back to the house, Aramis was limping rather badly. Porthos had been tempted to simply pick him up and carry him but Aramis had refused to let him. He had been a bit alarmed when he had helped Aramis down from the tree and noticed his tears. It had taken a good bit of reassurance on Aramis’ part that it had not been due to pain or distress but rather the release of emotions kept too long in check.

“I do not mind it,” Aramis told him, referring to his inability to walk without limping at the moment. “It… it reminds me of what we shared. I would hold on to that as long as possible.”

“Well, for once it’ll be me that gets the stink eye for hurting you,” Porthos remarked.

“No one will say anything,” Aramis said, chuckling. 

“You sure about that?” Porthos asked. “I’m not so worried about Athos, but your boy’s murderously protective on a good day.”

“He will not interfere in this,” Aramis assured him. “You would have to hurt me… to harm me… before he would intercede. And even then, he would come to me first.”

“Good,” Porthos said. “It’s a relief to know that if I ever do cross a line there’ll be someone there to stop me.”

“You would never,” Aramis said seriously. “You are wholly incapable of harming me. I have more faith in that, in you, than I have in anything, Porthos.”

When they walked into the sitting room, or limped in Aramis’ case, it was to find Athos and d’Artagnan almost exactly as they had left them. Athos was leaned back against the arm of the divan with d’Artagnan resting between his legs. The only differences were the younger man’s distinct lack of a shirt and the numerous bruises covering his chest and belly. Bruises that had definitely not come from his earlier accident.

“Looks like we’re not the only ones who made good use of our time,” Porthos said with a grin as the other two moved over to make room for the pair.

d’Artagnan frowned slightly at how badly Aramis was limping but did not cast so much as a glance in Porthos’ direction. “Would you like me to draw you a bath?” he asked him.

“I am fine, d’Artagnan,” Aramis said, shaking his head at their youngest’s near constant worry for them. “It is nothing a good night’s sleep will not see to.”

“As you say,” d’Artagnan relented. If Aramis said he was fine then d’Artagnan would not question him. He was a grown man and had as much right as the rest of them to do as he saw fit with his lover. Besides which, he knew Porthos would never do anything to actually harm Aramis. Any injury he might be suffering from now was truly minor and would heal in short order, of that he was certain.

“I gotta say, I expected a bit more fuss out of you, Whelp,” Porthos said when d’Artagnan didn’t say anything else. “I mean, Aramis said you wouldn’t but I had my doubts.”

“It is his life,” d’Artagnan said. “And he is more than capable of deciding how he wishes to live it. You did no lasting harm so what is there for me to object to?”

“I just know how protective you used to be of him, that’s all.”

“I still am,” d’Artagnan corrected him. “Make no mistake, Porthos. Had you harmed him, had you done him actual, intentional harm, neither of them would be able to stop me.”

Porthos looked at d’Artagnan then, gauging the truthfulness of the man’s words. What he saw in his eyes was nothing short of utter conviction. If he harmed Aramis, willfully harmed him, d’Artagnan would make sure he paid for it.

“Good,” Porthos told him with a nod, knowing he would rest easier with d’Artagnan’s vow in the back of his mind.

“You two do realize that I am quite capable of defending myself,” Aramis huffed, slightly put out that his lovers chose to act as though he were some maiden in need of their constant protection.

“Of course we do,” d’Artagnan replied. “But you are infinitely precious to all three of us and we cannot bear even the thought of losing you. We have come too close too many times. So we must beg your indulgence for I do not believe we will be able to stop acting this way any time soon.”

“I am not so important as all that,” Aramis said softly, somewhat embarrassed by d’Artagnan’s words.

“On the contrary, love, you are the other half of two of us,” Porthos said. “Most likely all three of us by now.”

Athos and d’Artagnan both went still at Porthos’ words, their eyes widening. Athos knew he needed to speak with Aramis, to set things straight between them as it were. For, at one time, he had told Aramis he was the other half of his soul. He had meant it then. But somewhere along the way things had changed and Athos had not even realized it until he had come so close to losing the young man currently wrapped up tight in his arms. 

He did not think Aramis would be upset with him or even overly hurt, but he needed to speak to him, to tell him. He deserved to hear it from him, not end up coming to the knowledge on his own because he had been too much of a coward to face him.

“I think perhaps d’Artagnan may have been right about that bath, Aramis,” Athos said somewhat hesitantly. “Would you allow me to draw one for you?”

Aramis’ brow creased in confusion as he regarded Athos. He could tell he was troubled about something all of a sudden but was unsure what. Considering what they were just discussing, he could only assume it had to do with d’Artagnan’s feelings toward him. Well, whatever it was, it was clear that Athos wished to speak to him alone about it. 

“Of course,” he replied. “Now that you mention it, I believe a bath would do me good.”

Athos rose then and went to prepare Aramis’ bath for him, leaving d’Artagnan with the other two men. For his part, d’Artagnan could not help the jangle of nerves that ran through him at what he knew was coming. He did not envy Athos his talk with Aramis. He knew his brother would just as soon surrender his commission than cause Aramis even a moment’s pain and d’Artagnan feared that he was about to do just that.

Once the bath was near ready, Aramis went and gathered a clean pair of smalls and went to join Athos. He found his brother on his knees next to the steaming tub, his shirt sleeves pushed up baring his forearms. “Do you intend to bathe me as well?” Aramis grinned as he closed the door behind him and began to undress. 

“I thought I might,” Athos replied. He sat back and watched as Aramis stripped down. He noticed his movements were somewhat stiff and a good bit slower than normal but he did not appear hurt in any way. Once he was naked, Athos helped him into the tub, easing him down into the hot water.

“Oh,” Aramis sighed as the hot water engulfed him. “This feels heavenly.”

“I am glad you approve,” Athos said as he picked up a cloth and soaped it. He began with Aramis’ hand, paying careful attention to his wrists which were slightly reddened from where the cuffs had dug into him. From there he moved up his arm until he reached his chest then stopped and repeated the process with the other one.

“Whatever it is you wish to talk to me about, you may as well tell me,” Aramis said as Athos continued to bathe him, running the rag over his chest and stomach, cleaning away the sweat and musk he had worked up earlier.

Athos sat back then and looked at Aramis, unsure how to begin. He loved his brother dearly and did not wish to hurt him. The thought of doing so made his stomach clench painfully and for one brief moment Athos felt as though he might actually be sick.

“Athos, whatever it is, it is not that bad,” Aramis said, sitting up in the tub. He could see the look of fear in his brother’s eyes and it scared him. Athos was not one to show his fear, even to them. For him to do so now was dire indeed.

“No, you are right. It is not,” Athos said. “At least I hope it is not. I need to tell you something and I am unsure how you will take it.”

For a second Aramis thought his heart might actually have stopped. He felt a cold dread settle in his chest and he had to fight to draw in a breath. “Are you leaving me?” he asked, his deepest fear forcing its way past his lips before he could stop it.

“Never,” Athos vowed. 

“Then whatever it is, tell me already,” Aramis told him, relieved and irritated at the same time.

“Very well,” Athos said. “But I ask that you listen to my entire explanation, long winded though it might be. I… I need to explain myself, not simply blurt it out to you and I need for you to listen to me. Can you do that?”

“Yes,” Aramis said as he leaned back in the tub once more. “And Athos, as long as you are not leaving me, as long as you are not about to tell me that you no longer love me, there is nothing we cannot get through together.”

“I pray you still feel that way once I have said what I need to say to you,” Athos replied. He picked up the cloth again and lifted one of Aramis’ feet. He needed something to do while he spoke, something to focus on so he would not have to look his lover in the eye as he told him. He knew it was cowardly of him, but it was the best he could do.

“Do you remember when I told you how much you meant to me?” he began. 

“Yes,” Aramis replied. “I… I felt somewhat guilty when you said that you felt I was your other half. I knew it was a sentiment I could never return.”

“I know,” Athos said. “I knew that much when I told you. I have always known that Porthos came first for you. It was why I was willing to step aside when I found out you had feelings for each other. You are two halves of the same person. Neither of you is truly complete without the other.”

“But I do love you, Athos,” Aramis insisted. “I love you so very much. I have since those first days, since those first careful kisses we shared.”

“I know that, too,” Athos assured him. “I know that you love me and you always will. Just as I will always love you. Even if you are no longer the other half of my soul.”

Aramis drew back, his eyes widening in stunned shock at Athos’ words. Of all the things he had thought Athos might tell him, this had never once crossed his mind. He had never imagined that Athos would stop… that he would be _replaced_. 

“Aramis? Say something,” Athos said when Aramis merely sat, staring at him, his eyes still far too wide and suspiciously wet.

“I… I… I do not know what to say,” Aramis managed at last. “I had envisioned many possible futures for myself, yet none of them were ever void of you, my Athos.”

“Void of me? Aramis, no,” Athos said. He dropped the cloth and moved back up so that he was next to Aramis. He took him by the arms and gripped him tightly, barely resisting the urge to shake him until he saw reason.

“But you said…”

“That I still love you dearly,” Athos told him, needing desperately for him to understand. “You are my brother and my lover and so dear to my heart that the thought of being without you is a physical pain. You will never have a life void of me until the day I leave this earth. Do you understand me?

“Just because my feelings have changed somewhat does not mean I no longer wish you in my life, Aramis,” Athos continued. “You still hold my heart in your hands, you just no longer hold quite all of it. I do not even want to contemplate a life without you in it, brother, without you by my side and in my bed.”

“And d’Artagnan will allow…”

“I shall pretend you did not just ask something so stupid,” d’Artagnan said from the doorway. He had waited as long as he could with Porthos, taking the time to explain to him what was going on so that he could be there for Aramis afterwards. He was glad now he had come to check on the pair.

“Is it truly?” Aramis asked sadly. “For how many times have you despaired of my place at your side due to Porthos’ ability to remove me with but a word?”

“I am not Porthos,” d’Artagnan told him. “I never expected a man like Athos to be willing to give so much of himself to me. He deserves men like you and Porthos. That he somehow thinks me worthy of him, frankly it astonishes me.”

“Does that not make my point even more?” Aramis asked.

“No,” d’Artagnan replied. “I never expected such a gift, not from him. Not from any of you, to be honest. I am saying this poorly. What I am trying to tell you is that I do not mind sharing him. And now I have made him sound as if he is some thing to be passed around amongst us.” 

d’Artagnan strode fully into the room and began to pace, angry with himself for being unable to get the words out he needed to so that Aramis would understand. Porthos chose that moment to walk in behind the other man. He had come with d’Artagnan when he had come to check on the pair but had stood just outside the door. 

“Take it easy, Whelp,” Porthos said as he came up behind him and squeezed his shoulder. “You’re doing fine. Just take your time.” 

d’Artagnan took a breath and then another and tried again. “I do not mind that Athos has other lovers. I would never see him parted from your side, Aramis. Or Porthos’ either for that matter. I love him. I wish him to be happy. Being with you makes him happy so why would I deny him that?”

“I am sorry,” Aramis said, looking away. “I did not mean to act as though…”

“As though you were a man afraid of losing one of the most important people in his world?” d’Artagnan cut him off. “You need never apologize for that. You need never apologize for loving him. Just as he need never apologize for loving you.”

“You have not lost me, Aramis,” Athos told him. He cupped his face then leaned over the side of the tub and kissed him, deep and slow. “You will never lose me. I will love you until my dying day. As I will love d’Artagnan. As I will love Porthos. Please tell me you do not feel as though I have betrayed you now.”

“Athos, no,” Aramis said, sitting up so quickly water splashed out onto the floor. “I do not… I am not jealous of what you have found with d’Artagnan. It is as he said. I am fearful of losing you, of losing my place in your heart.”

“There will always be a place in my heart for you,” Athos told him.

“Alright, that water’s starting to get cold,” Porthos said, knowing the two men could use a break. From the looks of things, d’Artagnan could as well. “Let me get him out of there and dried off and we can continue this if you want.”

Athos looked up at Porthos and saw the concern in his eyes. He glanced over at d’Artagnan and saw worry and no small amount of guilt. Running his hand through his hair, he nodded and stood. He clapped Porthos on the shoulder and took d’Artagnan by the hand, leading him from the room and giving the two men their privacy.

“I am sorry,” Aramis apologized again once the door had closed behind Athos and d’Artagnan.

“You don’t need to apologize,” Porthos told him as he reached down to help Aramis stand, not trusting his sore and abused muscles to fully support him and not wanting him to fall. “Athos caught you off guard. It wasn’t something you ever expected to hear.”

“No,” Aramis agreed. “But I still feel as though I reacted badly. I have no right to covet such a depth of feeling from him knowing I can never return it to the same degree.”

“But you come close,” Porthos replied. He helped Aramis step out of the tub and began drying him off, swatting his hands away when he tried to take the towel to do it himself.

“Close is not the same thing,” Aramis countered. “Tell me, would close be enough for you?”

“If it was all I could have, yeah,” Porthos replied after a moment. “But I would always want more.”

“And yet when Athos has found his ‘more’ rather than be happy for him, I think only of myself, what it might mean for me. My God, when did I become so selfish a creature as this?”

“You didn’t do it out of selfishness,” Porthos argued. “Yeah, okay, maybe it seems like it, but I know that isn’t what this was. It was fear, nothing more than that. The Whelp was right about that much. I think… I think you’ve been afraid of losing us for awhile now.”

“Porthos?”

“Let’s wait and have this talk with the others, okay?” Porthos asked, thinking it would do more good for all of them to get this out rather than just him and Aramis. 

Aramis agreed albeit reluctantly. He waited patiently while Porthos quickly bathed himself, washing the sweat from his body before donning his clothes once more. He pulled Aramis into his arms and held him, rubbing his hands up and down his back soothingly then released him and led him into the sitting room where the others waited.

Porthos led Aramis over to the divan and sat him down. He had been slightly surprised to find d’Artagnan and Athos had switched places but realized he should have expected it. It was Athos Aramis was currently worried about which meant the boy would do everything in his power to ease him, even if that meant keeping what had to be a painful distance between them at the moment.

“Aramis and I were talking a bit. He was upset with himself for being selfish,” Porthos told them. He saw both of them about to protest and held his hand up to stop them. “I told him he wasn’t being selfish that he was just scared. That it seemed to me like he’d been scared of losing us for awhile now.”

“Will you explain that now?” Aramis asked, his soft voice sounding loud in the suddenly quiet room.

“I think you’ve been afraid of losing us ever since that accursed mission started,” Porthos explained. “Or at least close to then. I think it started when you told us about… them. About what they did to you. I don’t think it was very strong then, just a little worry in the back of your mind or something. But then that whole mess with Bathory happened and we nearly lost you thrice over. 

“And that, that made that little worry grow a bit stronger every time something happened, didn’t it?” Porthos asked, though he did not expect Aramis to answer. “Every time you did something, never mind that it wasn’t you doing it, that you had no control, it made that worry grow inside of you.”

Aramis felt tears sting his eyes as Porthos spoke. He leaned forward, his arms resting on his spread thighs, staring resolutely at the floor. Everything Porthos had said so far was true. He could remember lying awake some nights wondering when enough would finally be enough and his lovers would simply wash their hands of him. He was already asking so much of d’Artagnan, much more than either of them had ever anticipated. How much more could the boy take, would he be willing to take, before simply saying enough?

“And afterwards, when you were trying to cope with everything and… and lashing out, well, I don’t know if you were testing him or trying to see if you could make him turn his back on you or what. But that fear had have been screaming inside of you by then,” Porthos went on as gently as he could. He could see how much his words were affecting Aramis but they needed to talk about this, get this out so it would no longer fester and grow inside of Aramis.

“It was,” Aramis admitted, his voice strained. “I could not see why any of you would still put up with such behavior from me. I kept… kept waiting for…”

“Easy, love,” Porthos told him, taking his hand and squeezing it. “You kept waiting for one of us to say enough, that we were through with this, through with you.”

“Yes,” Aramis said, the words barely audible.

“You know that would never have happened, right?” Porthos asked. “The devil himself couldn’t drag me from your side. Athos either. And I’d pay money to watch him so much as try to remove the Whelp. We love you, Aramis. We love you in the goods times. We love you in the okay times. But I think we love you most of all in the bad times. Because it’s then, when things are at their darkest, that you give us the strength, the faith, to keep fighting.

“You are stuck with us, love,” Porthos told him. “For eternity. Because even when we die, we’ll still be there… with you, waiting for you or looking for you. 

“Porthos is right,” Athos said as he took Aramis’ other hand. “My love for you will never end. It will not diminish. It has not diminished, though I can understand how my clumsy words may have made you think so.”

“No,” Aramis said, shaking his head. 

“I quite obviously did so,” Athos told him. “And for that, I am sorry. That was never the message I intended to convey. You are as precious to me as you were the first time you kissed me and I nearly knocked myself unconscious on that cave wall.”

“And the Whelp may not be saying anything over there for some reason, but I know his feelings for you haven’t changed one bit,” Porthos said, frowning slightly at d’Artagnan. “If they had, he sure hell wouldn’t have looked like his whole fucking world had ended when you walked in with that collar in your hand rather than around your neck.”

“Oh,” Aramis said, startled. His head came up then and he looked over at d’Artagnan. The memory of the stricken, hopeless look on his Master’s face when he and Porthos had returned after their talk came unbidden to his mind. Porthos was right about that. It was clear that, no matter how his feelings about Athos might have changed, they in no way affected his feelings for him.

“You get it now?” Porthos asked carefully.

“I believe I am starting to,” Aramis answered, smiling slightly. “I am sorry for letting my fear get the better of me once again.”

“We have all been guilty of such where the others are concerned,” Athos replied. “I dare say we shall be again. Just remember that we have vowed to remain together and that there is nothing we cannot overcome with the help of our brothers.”

When it grew time for bed, Porthos and Aramis excused themselves, heading for their shared room. Aramis had wanted to ask the others to join them but knew they would probably wish to have some time alone together. He dreaded the thought of things returning to how they were before, with him and Porthos in one bed and Athos and d’Artagnan in another. It was not that Porthos was not enough for him, but he had grown accustomed to being surrounded by his family and knew in his heart that he would miss that closeness. 

As he entered the room behind Porthos, Aramis berated himself for being selfish yet again. The others practically cosseted him at every turn as it was. How dare he be so spoiled as to ask for even more from them. What right did he have to infringe upon the time they would share with each other, as if he had a right to it?

He turned to close the door behind him but a hand wrapped around the edge of it, stopping him. He stepped back, surprised, as Athos pushed the door open and he and d’Artagnan walked in. “Did you wish more time alone with Porthos?” Athos asked, seeing the look on Aramis’ face. “We can take the other room if you would prefer it.”

“No,” Aramis said quickly, grabbing onto Athos’ arm and pulling him further into the room. “I…”

“Did you think we would not join you?” d’Artagnan asked, guessing what it was that had thrown Aramis so.

“I thought you might prefer, that is, that you might wish to be alone tonight,” Aramis admitted.

“We were alone earlier,” Athos told him. “Now, we wish to be with our brothers.”

“Your hand gonna be up to having all of us in the bed, Whelp?” Porthos asked, worried that all of them being so close might cause d’Artagnan further injury.

“I’ll be next to the wall so it should be fine,” he replied.

“d’Artagnan?” Athos queried, looking at his lover. It was normally his place to be on the outside, he and Porthos bracketing their lovers between them protectively. It allowed Aramis and d’Artagnan a chance to be close while allowing Athos and Porthos the opportunity to still be close to them as well.

“He needs you more,” d’Artagnan said softly. It was the only explanation he felt necessary. Aramis needed Athos close to him right now so that was how it would be. For d’Artagnan, his brothers would always come first. And for all that Athos ruled his heart, he had a duty to Aramis that he would not turn away from.

Athos helped d’Artagnan strip down to his smalls and then get onto the bed so that he was against the wall. He still did not like it, but he agreed with the man. Aramis did need him close right now and he could no more deny Aramis something he needed than d’Artagnan could. He undressed as well, pausing when he got to his own smalls. They normally slept together naked, but d’Artagnan had wanted to stay clothed. Athos was unsure now whether he should undress or not.

“I do not mind if you undress,” d’Artagnan told him. “I did not wish to because I have difficulty enough with my hand as it is. I saw no reason to make dressing even more arduous come morning, especially if I am up before the lot of you.”

“If you are up before the lot of us, then you shall wake one of us to assist you,” Aramis told him as he stripped off his own smalls. “We do not mind helping you and would much rather lose a bit of sleep than for you to further injure yourself for no good reason.”

“Alright,” d’Artagnan chuckled, surrendering before Aramis could really start berating him. When it came to their health, their well-being, he could be quite the tyrant and they had all been through quite enough for one day.

When Athos climbed onto the bed, d’Artagnan rolled onto his side and kissed him then rolled back onto his back. He did not want to wrap his injured arm around him and knew it would be safest this way. Athos had started to turn towards him but he had simply whispered ‘don’t’ and the man had subsided. He knew he was not overly thrilled with this but he would soon have enough to worry about with seeing to Aramis. 

“You gonna be okay, Whelp?” Porthos asked as he and Aramis got settled. 

“I’ll be fine,” d’Artagnan replied. “If I keep my arm close to the wall I should avoid doing any damage to it. The sooner this heals up the better for all of us.”

“Agreed,” Porthos said. He hugged Aramis at that and kissed his shoulder, hoping to alleviate some of his worry over their youngest. At least the boy was here with them and not off licking his wounds by himself somewhere. Considering his propensity to do just that, Porthos counted this a victory.

“Are you in much pain?” Aramis asked him, worried now. d’Artagnan was not one for being cautious. If he was doing so now then there had to be a reason.

“No,” he replied. “I am merely trying to be mindful. I want the use of my hand back. I want to be able to lie with my brothers as I would not as my wounds require. Nothing more than that.”

“You would tell me if it were otherwise, right?” Aramis asked.

“On my honor,” d’Artagnan promised. 

“Come here,” Athos said as he moved closer to Aramis. He slid one arm beneath his head, cradling it and letting his hand come up to tangle in his hair. The other arm, he let slide around his waist and over Porthos’ hip. He had started to slide it down Aramis’ back but had not wanted to put himself between Aramis and Porthos.

“Go ahead and hold him, Athos,” Porthos told him. “He knows I’m right here and he needs you right now.”

Athos nodded his thanks and drew his arm back off Porthos’ hip to curl around Aramis’ back. He drew him toward him until their bodies were flush together and he pressed his forehead to the other man’s. “I am here, beloved,” Athos whispered his breath caressing Aramis’ lips as he spoke. “I am here, with you, in your arms and in your bed. I am not leaving. You are not losing me. Not now. Not ever.”

Aramis tilted his head up and kissed Athos tenderly, the way they tended to kiss each other when they wanted to show what was in their hearts. He could feel Porthos behind him, his hand on his hip heavy and reassuring, letting him know that he was there and that he had nothing to fear from this. 

“Think you can sleep now?” Athos asked when Aramis pulled back, his eyes no longer holding that skittish, fearful look from before.

“Yes,” Aramis smiled. 

“Good,” Athos said as he pushed him back so he was pressed against Porthos once more. He moved over as well, effectively pinning Aramis between them and pulled his head down onto his chest. “Sleep then. We can talk more in the morning if we’ve a need to.”

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

d’Artagnan moaned in his sleep, thrashing. His skin felt hot all over, prickly, like he had grown too big for it all of a sudden. He shoved at the blanket covering him, trying to free himself. He was hot. Too hot and he needed to cool off. 

He moaned as he squirmed on the bed. In the back of his mind, he was glad Athos had moved so far away from him, so close to Aramis. It left him with room to move, to squirm, to try to make that hot, prickly feeling go away. But no matter how much he tried, no matter how much he moved against the bed, rubbing his back and legs against it restlessly, he could not seem to make the feeling go away. 

He came close to waking a time or two as his thrashing grew stronger and his moans increased in volume. He felt movement next to him and it calmed him somewhat to know he was not alone, that his brothers were near to hand. He did not know why that seemed to calm the fire blazing inside of him, but it did and he was grateful.

He sank back into sleep then, deep and undisturbed for a time. His body’s need for rest outweighing even the dreams that plagued his mind. The respite, however, was short-lived. Suddenly, that hot itch was back under his skin, worse than ever. The force of it slammed into him and without warning d’Artagnan found himself shouting as he shot upright in the bed, his hard cock spasming in his smalls as he spent himself helplessly.

The other occupants of the bed awoke at once to the sound of their brother’s distress. Athos turned to his lover immediately, thinking he must have injured his hand in some way. One look at d’Artagnan told him that was not the case. The younger man was blushing a deep red and staring down at his lap. When Athos looked down he saw his hands crossed over his lap, covering himself. 

“d’Artagnan, what’s wrong?” he asked, frowning. 

“Nothing,” d’Artagnan said, his face heating even more as he spoke. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to wake you all.”

“Did you hurt yourself?” Aramis asked sitting up and looking around Athos. He, too, thought d’Artagnan must have caused some new injury to his hand to have cried out so.

“No,” d’Artagnan said, shame filling him anew. “No, I am fine. Please… I am sorry. I did not mean to wake everyone.”

“We don’t care about that, lad,” Porthos put in, hoping to ease the boy’s distress. He could hear in his voice how upset he was, he did not even need to look at him. Whatever had caused him to cry out so, it had not been anything as simple as pain.

“I… I should not be here,” d’Artagnan said after a moment and began looking about as if trying to figure out how to extricate himself from the bed.

“Where the hell else should you be?” Porthos asked, the question coming out a bit more gruffly than he had intended. 

“I…”

“d’Artagnan,” Athos said gently, taking his lover by the arm. “Whatever is wrong, you can tell us. It is clear that it is not your hand that is the cause of your distress so I must assume that you had a dream of some sort that has discomfited you so. Is that the case?”

“Yes,” d’Artagnan admitted. He had to close his eyes to keep his emotions at bay. He was mortified at what he had dreamed and even more so by his body’s reaction to it. He had told himself a long time ago that he would never seek pleasure in such things again and now…

“Whatever it is you are afraid of, you have no need to be,” Aramis added. “It was only a dream. And even if it were not, there is nothing you cannot share with us. You know this.”

“I’m not altogether sure he does, love,” Porthos interjected quietly. He wished the boy knew that, trusted that he could come to them with anything and they would not forsake him, but he knew that simply was not the case. Whoever had hurt him in the past had certainly done a thorough job of it. So good, in fact, that he could not seem to see past it even now.

“d’Artagnan,” Athos called then waited until d’Artagnan raised his head to look at him. “Do you believe me when I say that you hold my heart in your hands as Porthos does Aramis’?”

d’Artagnan nodded, unable to get words past his throat. Fragments of the dream kept replaying themselves through his head, making him aroused and ashamed in equal measure and the combination of sensations made him feel sick.

“Then you must know that there is nothing you could say or do that would make me turn from you,” Athos continued. “That there is nothing that would… would lessen you in my eyes. Nor, I dare say, in the eyes of your brothers.”

“You do not know…” d’Artagnan began only to trail off.

“Then tell us,” Athos said, using the same words they had used with Aramis. “Tell us and let us prove ourselves to _you_ this time.”

“I…” d’Artagnan started to protest then hung his head. There was no way he could deny them. Even knowing they were likely wrong, that what he had to say would lessen him in their eyes, that it would… cheapen him, he still owed it to them to give them the chance. 

“d’Artagnan?” Athos called.

“May I clean up first?” he asked, at least wanting to get out of his soiled smalls and wipe himself down before having to talk to them.

“Of course,” Aramis said at once. “Athos and Porthos will go and light a fire in the sitting room. I shall assist you and check your hand again and then we can join them.”

“I can manage,” d’Artagnan said.

“Yes, we all know that you can, but what you do not seem to realize is that you do not have to.”

Knowing an order when they heard one, Athos and Porthos rose and grabbed their smalls then went into the sitting room as Aramis had instructed, leaving the pair alone. Aramis helped d’Artagnan off the bed then began unlacing his smalls, studiously ignoring the dampness covering the front of them. Obviously, whatever d’Artagnan had dreamed about had disturbed him greatly. Aramis sincerely hoped it was only a matter of the younger man having such a dream about someone he considered inappropriate. That would, at least, explain his embarrassment and unwillingness to share the details. Aramis, however, feared it might be something much more complicated than simply misplaced guilt on their young lover’s part.

“You’re not saying anything,” d’Artagnan commented once Aramis had unlaced his smalls and pushed them down his hips.

“I was not aware you wished me to,” Aramis replied. He waited for d’Artagnan to step out of the garment before picking it up and using it to wipe him off, keeping his actions perfunctory. Once he was at least marginally clean, he threw the soiled garment in the corner and went to the bureau to get him a clean pair of smalls as well as a pair for himself.

“The others would have said something by now,” d’Artagnan said after Aramis finished helping into the clean garment and laced them up.

“As you said before, I am not them,” he replied as he got dressed as well. “Now sit down and let me check your hand before we join them.”

d’Artagnan did as he was told and sat down, holding his injured hand out to Aramis. He did not think he had done any additional damage but he was too off kilter from everything else to really be certain. It would be best to let Aramis check it to be sure. Besides, he was in no hurry for the coming conversation.

“If there is anything you wish to say to me, here and now, while we are alone, I will listen,” Aramis told him as he checked the hand and stared to rewrap it, satisfied that it was healing as it should.

“I do not wish to discuss it at all,” d’Artagnan said. It was true. He did not want to talk about it. He certainly did not want to tell Aramis only to have to go through it all over again for Athos and Porthos.

“If you do not wish to talk about it, then no one shall force you,” Aramis told him. “But your distress pains us. And you cannot tell me that this has not distressed you for we can all see that it has. However, you have as much right to your privacy, your secrets as the rest of us do. If you wish this to remain as such then you have but to tell us and we will let it go.”

“I am not sure Athos would be willing to do so,” d’Artagnan said. 

“Athos will do as he is told in this regard,” Aramis said, his voice firm in a way it very rarely was in speaking about his brothers. “You protected me and my secrets at every turn. You did so in direct opposition to our brothers, until I was ready and able to tell them myself. If it is now my turn to return that protection, then I will do so and gladly.”

When they joined the others in the sitting room, they found Athos and Porthos waiting on the divan. Aramis held d’Artagnan’s hand, squeezing it encouragingly as he led him over to join them. He had calmed somewhat but he was still scared and Aramis refused to allow him to be bullied into speaking of this if he did not wish to.

“What’s going on with you, Whelp?” Porthos asked. He had not missed the protective light to Aramis’ eyes as he brought the boy over. He was used to seeing it in the Whelp’s eyes but not the other way around and wondered just what he had told the other man to make him act so.

“d’Artagnan does not wish to discuss it,” Aramis began. A squeeze of d’Artagnan’s hand stopped him and he looked at the other man. “Are you sure? You do not have to do this. No one here will force you to do anything you do not wish to.”

“I know,” d’Artagnan told him then looked at the others. “Is it the same? When I do this with him?”

“Oh yes,” Athos grinned. “You can be quite formidable when you are defending him regardless of who or what you are defending him from. We… we have come to find it reassuring, Porthos and I.”

“I do not mean to seem…” Aramis began.

“Peace, love,” Porthos said. “When have I ever complained about you protecting him, huh? You two, you just keep right on fighting for each other and me and Athos’ll rest a whole lot easier for it.”

“Do you not wish to speak of this, d’Artagnan?” Athos asked. He hoped that was not the case. He did not like the thought of something bothering his lover so much and being unable to help him with it. Aramis, however, was correct. They would not force him to speak of this if he did not wish to. Perhaps, one day, he would feel secure enough in their affection for him to trust them.

“No,” d’Artagnan replied honestly. “But I will not keep it from you. I know it would wound you for me to do so and that is something I will not do.”

“Would it be easier if it was just Athos here?” Porthos asked, willing to give them their privacy if it helped the boy be able to talk about whatever was bothering him so much.

“No,” d’Artagnan shook his head. “It… it would probably be worse, actually. It was but a dream, I know. It is not so much the dream that I am, am bothered by as my own reaction to it. I promised myself a long time ago that I would never seek such ple… such things again. To have dreamt of them now…”

“One cannot control what one dreams, d’Artagnan,” Aramis reasoned. “Nor the body’s unconscious reaction to it. You did no wrong here.”

“It was shameful,” d’Artagnan said, his voice low and pained. He was staring across the room at the far wall, needing something to focus on so that he did not inadvertently look at any of the others. “To desire such… such…”

“Perhaps you should start at the beginning,” Athos suggested. As much as he did not want to force the younger man to speak about something that so obviously upset him, they could not help him if they did not understand what they were dealing with.

“I… I do not know if I can,” d’Artagnan admitted.

“Can you tell us what you dreamed of then?” Aramis asked. If they could get him to tell them that much they might be able to piece together the rest or even get him to tell them if they could somehow prove they did not hold his revelation against him.

d’Artagnan nodded jerkily and took a moment to gather himself. Aramis kept a hold of his hand and for that, he was grateful. It gave him a tether to the here and now, assuring he did not become lost in the past. “It started out with Porthos and I in here,” he began. 

_d’Artagnan moaned as Porthos’ hand in his hair tightened even more and his head was pulled back, forcing him to raise himself up using little more than his stomach muscles. Porthos had bound his hands behind his back using the leather cuffs he had gotten for Aramis. He had even gone so far as to take the leash and wind it around his arms from his bound wrists up to his elbows, ensuring they remained completely immobilized._

_Porthos held him like that, his knees splayed wide around Porthos’ own legs, the fist in his hair holding him bent forward. Porthos refused to allow him to come up fully on his knees nor would he release him and allow him to rest on his shoulders. He forced him to maintain this half-way position which left his entire body taut with effort._

“He was fucking you,” Aramis said bluntly. He was a bit shocked by the revelation. He had not expected Porthos to play such a predominant role in d’Artagnan’s dream. Perhaps that was what bothered him about it so much, that it was one of his brothers. Aramis dismissed that thought as soon as it had come. No, d’Artagnan had called his desires shameful. There was more to this than they yet realized.

“Yes,” d’Artagnan replied. “He… he was…”

“He was what?” Aramis asked, trying to help draw the words from their youngest. He had some experience at getting him to talk about difficult things and recognized when he was struggling with how to say something. “He will not take offense, love. Just say it as you need to. If he has concerns, we shall address them after you have finished telling us.”

d’Artagnan nodded again and squeezed Aramis’ hand even tighter. “He was rough… Very rough…”

“When he fucked you? He was rough then?” Aramis asked, wanting to be clear.

“Yes.”

“How rough?” Porthos asked, needing to know. He knew it was just a dream, but even so he did not like he thought of actually hurting any of them and from the way the boy was acting he had done a hell of a lot more than just hurt him.

“Brutal,” d’Artagnan whispered.

Porthos opened his mouth, but Aramis shook his head, silencing him. He regarded d’Artagnan for a moment, the way he sat hunched over slightly, the way he held his hand hard enough to make his fingers ache. He recalled the state of his smalls when he had helped clean him up and things started falling into place. 

“He was brutal,” Aramis said carefully, knowing he was treading on very shaky ground here. “And you liked it.”

d’Artagnan tried to answer, but he could not get any words past his throat. He felt his breaths coming faster and tried to calm them. In the end, he settled for giving a single, jerky nod of his head in reply.

“Calm yourself,” Aramis whispered as he leaned in close. “We are here and you are safe. There is no judgment here. We only seek to understand.”

“Sorry,” d’Artagnan mumbled when he had finally calmed once more. 

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Aramis told him. “Do you wish to continue or would you rather stop?”

“I would rather see this over and done,” he replied. “I do not know that I will have the courage do face this again.”

“You will always have the courage,” Athos told him. “But tell us and get it over with so that we can help you.”

“He was brutal,” d’Artagnan began his tale again. “He had prepared me but only marginally so.”

_d’Artagnan could not help but cry out when Porthos thrust into him particularly hard. He felt bruised on the inside and knew he likely was. The way Porthos was holding him was keeping his whole body tense which, in turn, was making him clench down on Porthos’ cock even as it battered him._

_His whole body felt like it was on fire, from the hand forcing his head back that felt as though it would rip the hair from his very head, to the bruising grip on his hip that jerked him back into Porthos’ thrusts, to the thick cock that threatened to steal the breath from his lungs with every powerful thrust. And all he could do was moan and gasp and writhe as Porthos took what he wanted._

_“Having fun, brother?”_

_The sound of Athos’ voice caused d’Artagnan to whip his head around toward it as much as Porthos’ strong grip would allow. He flushed anew when he saw Athos and Aramis standing before them, watching while Porthos fucked him in the middle of the sitting room. Athos was smirking down at him while Aramis merely watched, taking in every detail._

_“Oh yeah,” Porthos said. He abruptly let go of d’Artagnan’s hair and shoved him down until his face was pressed against the floor. He gave a quick jerk of his head to Athos and the man walked forward until he was standing right in front of them._

_Athos quirked an eyebrow and when Porthos nodded, he motioned for Aramis to come closer. He wanted to make sure he had an unimpeded view. Once he was satisfied, he nudged d’Artagnan’s mouth with the toe of his boot. “Lick,” he commanded.”_

Athos had to clench his hand into a fist to keep from reaching out and taking d’Artagnan’s hand in his. The only reason he stopped himself was because he did not want to accidentally hurt his injured wrist. The image his lover had painted was both disturbing and highly arousing and Athos was disconcerted to find he was not sure which he felt more. 

“Athos? You alright?” Porthos asked, seeing how affected he suddenly was.

“I am,” Athos replied, though his voice came out somewhat strangled. “I… that image… I had not expected…”

“Easy, brother,” Porthos said. “None of us, I think, were quite expecting this.”

Knowing he needed to shift the focus back to d’Artagnan rather than his brothers’ reactions, Aramis ignored the exchange between the other two. “I was not aware you enjoyed being humiliated in such a manner,” he said carefully, trying to gauge d’Artagnan’s reaction.

“It is not the humiliation,” d’Artagnan explained quietly. “Not really. I mean, it is, but…”

“But?” Aramis pressed.

“It is not like it is for Athos,” he shrugged. “I get no… no pleasure from it.”

“It serves a different purpose for you then?”

“Yes,” d’Artagnan replied succinctly. 

“Alright,” Aramis said, filing that information away for later. It was clear the lad was not yet ready to explain that so he let it go for now. “My watching, did it make the humiliation greater?”

“Yes.”

“Was it because you were being observed by another or because it was me?” Aramis asked, again choosing his words very carefully. He wanted to know if it was just being observed doing something so utterly debasing that added to his humiliation or if it had more to do with unique nature of their relationship that made it worse for him.

“Having anyone watch me do that would be bad,” d’Artagnan told him. “But having it be you, knowing that they would have made you stay to watch even if you had been unwilling to…”

“I see,” Aramis replied. He could feel the hand holding his shaking slightly and began to worry if they were pushing him too far. Whatever this was, the fear of it was something deeply rooted within the boy and getting to the heart of it could prove as dangerous as it did painful.

“d’Artagnan,” Athos called as he placed a hand on his lover’s arm. He could feel the shaking beneath his hand and cast an anxious glance at Aramis. “Do you need to stop? We do not have to do this now. We can stop if you need to.”

“No,” d’Artagnan said stubbornly. “If I do not get this out now, I never will. Please… just…”

“What?” Athos asked.

“Promise me you will not leave,” d’Artagnan said, the words pained.

“I know you are afraid so I will not ask how you could even think such a thing,” Athos said after a stunned moment. “I will simply do as you have asked. I will not leave. On my honor, I will not leave you, no matter what you might tell us.”

d’Artagnan managed to turn his head and look at Athos then. He saw the sincerity in his lover’s eyes and it eased some of the wild fear inside of him. Not all of it. He did not think anything could ease all of it. Not until this was said and done, but it helped bolster him for what still to come.

“You made me lick both of them before you told Porthos it was good enough,” d’Artagnan continued, licking his lips unconsciously as he remembered that part of the dream.

_“Good enough,” Athos laughed, pulling his booted foot back. A ruddy flush covered d’Artagnan’s face and ran down his torso, giving testament to his abject humiliation. Athos thought he had never looked better._

_Porthos bent forward and fisted his hand in d’Artagnan’s hair once more. Pulling hard, he hauled him back until he was upright on his knees, his naked body on display for all to see. He held him there, grinning at the look of lust he saw on Athos’ face._

_“Look at him,” Porthos taunted as he jerked d’Artagnan’s head back so that he was completely exposed, even his throat bared. “See how hard he is, how much he likes it. You like being fucked like this, don’t you, bitch?”_

_Unable to even turn away from the hungry eyes of the other men, d’Artagnan blushed even harder. Porthos was right. He did like it. He liked the roughness of the fuck. He liked the fact that Porthos was taking him without a thought to what he might or might not want. And he liked debasing himself in front of his brothers, of pressing his face to the floor and showing them that he knew his place._

_“Yes, Sir,” d’Artagnan replied._

_“Heh, yeah, I bet you do,” Porthos chuckled. “Did you like licking Athos’ boots like a dog, too?”_

_d’Artagnan choked on a gasp. He tried to answer but could not force the words out. He had liked it, but to admit that aloud was too much. He could not do it._

_Snarling, Porthos let go of his grip on d’Artagnan’s hair and grabbed his right nipple. He twisted it painfully, making the younger man’s body tighten as he cried out in pain. He continued to torment him for long minutes before easing up the slightest bit._

_“I said, did you like licking Athos’ boots like a dog, bitch?” Porthos asked him again, giving his nipple another brutal twist as he did so._

_“Yes,” d’Artagnan gasped as he writhed in Porthos’ grip, trying desperately to escape the pain but unable to do so._

_Athos slid to his knees in front of him then and fisted his hand in d’Artagnan’s hair. He jerked his head back as Porthos had done earlier. He could see the pain on the boy’s face, both from what Porthos was doing to his chest and the cock still buried deep inside him._

_“Why?” Athos asked, staring at d’Artagnan intently as he did so._

_d’Artagnan whimpered and tried to turn his head away, but Athos tightened his grip and jerked his head back even harder. He took his other nipple with his free hand and began to twist it as Porthos had done, making the boy cry out and writhe between the two of them._

_Athos kept the torment up until he saw the other man blinking back tears, struggling to hold them at bay. Easing the pressure enough so he would be able to speak, he asked him again. “Why, d’Artagnan?”_

_“Because it puts me in my place,” d’Artagnan sobbed unable to hold it in any longer. Pain was singing all through him, from his head to his chest to his ass, and he could not fight against the delicious pull of it._

_Aramis moved forward then, joining the others and closing the circle around their youngest. He whispered to Athos to let go of his head and Athos complied, allowing d’Artagnan to turn his head away momentarily. Aramis reached out and stroked the younger man’s face, his tenderness in direct contrast with the touches he had received so far. It was so different, so unexpected, that it jarred d’Artagnan and made him cry out._

_“You said it puts you in your place,” Aramis said once he was certain he had the man’s attention. “Just what is your place, d’Artagnan?”_

_“The bottom,” he whispered hoarsely, unable to resist any more. Whatever they asked of him, it was theirs for the taking. “My place is at the bottom.”_

_“Yes, it is,” Aramis said as he drew back his arm and backhanded him hard across the face._

“That was when I woke up,” d’Artagnan said softly. 

“And…” Aramis trailed off, barely catching himself from revealing the state their youngest had awoken in.

“And found I had spent in my smalls, yes,” d’Artagnan said, his words filled with self-loathing.

“Stop that,” Porthos said. “First off, it was a dream. You got no control over that, just like Aramis said. Second, we’re your brothers. We’re never going to judge you for what you want.”

“Porthos is right. We do not think less of you for your desires, though we may have some few difficulties finding a way to fulfill them,” Aramis said as he ran his free hand through his hair.

“Why would you even want to?” d’Artagnan asked. “It is sick… depraved…”

“Stop,” Athos said sternly. “Your desires are no such thing. Do you consider my desires such? Or Aramis’? What of Porthos? Do you see his penchant for being rough and somewhat demanding as abusive in some way? Tell us the truth, d’Artagnan.”

“You know I do not,” d’Artagnan replied. 

“Then why do you consider your own as such?” Athos asked.

“Because it is all he has been shown, Athos,” Aramis replied sadly. “I am right, am I not?”

“Yes,” d’Artagnan replied. “It… it is what I meant… before… when I said that asking for what I wanted did not always go well for me.”

“You have asked for this before?” Porthos repeated.

d’Artagnan nodded but said nothing else. There was nothing left to say, not in his mind. They knew the truth now. It was up to them what they decided to do with that knowledge. 

“Okay, let’s take this one step at a time,” Aramis said. “First, I think we need to make sure we all understand exactly what it is you want.”

“I do not want…”

“Yes, you do,” Aramis told him. “Just because you have denied yourself does not mean you do not want it. And if it is within our power to give it to you, then we shall. Some of this, we certainly can. But some of it, we cannot, at least not to that degree.”

“I do not understand,” d’Artagnan frowned. He looked up at Aramis and was relieved to see nothing but the same love and affection he always did, even if it was tempered with a good deal of concern at the moment.

“We will not hurt you, d’Artagnan,” Athos said, speaking up. “None of us. Small pains, roughness to a degree, that is fine. But to actually hurt you, we simply cannot bear it.”

“I thought that was only for Aramis,” d’Artagnan replied without thinking.

“Boy, Aramis isn’t the only one we don’t want to hurt,” Porthos nearly growled, upset once again at d’Artagnan’s inability to perceive his own worth to them.

“I guess I just did not think it would be an issue with me,” he shrugged.

“It is,” Athos told him. 

“To be clear,” Aramis began, changing the subject for now. “It is the pain you like, is it not? I know Porthos has told me that you enjoy the thought of being… taken by him. I take it these are related?”

“Yes,” he admitted, the shame in his voice quite clear.

“Alright,” Aramis said, keeping his replies as matter-of-fact as he could. “Is there any particular type of pain you prefer? Or any that you do not like?”

“Not really,” d’Artagnan said. “I… fire… being burned… I do not…”

“Of course,” Aramis said at once. An image came unbidden to his mind, of d’Artagnan in that horrible dungeon when he had first seen the branding iron in Aramis’ hands and thought it still meant for him. He had seen the naked fear in his eyes before he could hide it and Aramis felt his heart ache once more. 

“Aramis?” d’Artagnan said softly when he saw the sick look pass over his face.

“No fire. Not ever,” Aramis told him. “Nothing that will sc-scar.”

“Oh God, ‘Mis. I did not mean…”

“Hush, lad,” Aramis told him. “You did nothing wrong. I am not distressed because of… of what happened to me.”

“Then what is it?” d’Artagnan asked worriedly.

Aramis sighed, realizing he would have to explain before the young man would let this go. “I remembered the dungeon… and the look on your face when they handed me the branding iron. How you thought I could ever do that to you… Even had I not seen the terror on your face at the sight of it, I would never have been able to do it.”

“Is there a reason that alone…”Athos began to ask only for Aramis to glare at him, cutting him off.

“It’s alright,” d’Artagnan chuckled weakly when he saw Aramis glaring at Athos. “Yes, actually. When I was a young boy, our barn caught fire. Father and I ran in to try to save the horses. We got two of them out but the third was too scared. I tried to get something over her head so I could lead her out but I couldn’t. Father ran in and grabbed me and drug me outside right before the roof fell in.”

“No fire. Not ever,” Athos said, repeating Aramis’ words from earlier. He had a moment to wonder how in hell d’Artagnan was going to manage to go through with Aramis’ rebranding but he shoved that away. They could deal with that later. Now as not the time.

Aramis waited until everyone seemed settled once more before bringing up the next thing they needed to discuss. “You mentioned being put in your place. Can you explain that to us?” 

“I can try,” d’Artagnan said somewhat resignedly. “But I do not know if I can make you understand it. It is… difficult to convey.”

“Just do your best,” Aramis said. “And trust that we shall try our best to understand. Besides, we all of us have some little experience with this now. Between us all, I believe we can be made to understand.”

“It… as I said, it is not like it is for Athos,” he began. “I do not find any gratification in being humiliated. But it… helps.”

“It helps?” Aramis repeated. “It helps you to achieve the state you are seeking?”

“Yes, I suppose that is one way to put it.”

“You said your place was at the bottom,” Aramis commented. He hesitated then forced himself to ask the question. “Is that merely a state you seek to achieve or do you truly feel that way?”

d’Artagnan opened his mouth to reply then closed it again. He tried to think of what to say that would alleviate the worry he saw on Aramis’ face but could come up with nothing. At least nothing that was not an outright lie.

“Please do not,” Aramis said softly. “I can see you trying to come up with some way to answer my question without distressing me. I would much rather you simply tell me the truth.”

It was d’Artagnan’s turn to sigh. “The truth is… not entirely. It is a state I seek to achieve, yes. But my desire to achieve that state, as you put it, is based on my perception of my worth… my place, as it were.”

“Your place is not at the bottom, damn it,” Porthos spat angrily. He was not angry with d’Artagnan but rather with himself, with everyone who had made this boy think himself somehow less than those around him. 

“Porthos,” Aramis warned. Getting angry would not help anyone, least of all d’Artagnan. He was angry, too. He was enraged that d’Artagnan still carried this misconception, this idea that he was somehow worth less than the rest of them, around with him. 

“Porthos is right,” Athos added, though he managed to keep his voice calm as he did so. “You place is not at the bottom. You are not lacking. I can understand if it is a desire to act as such, for we all have our desires, our needs. But to say that it stems from the belief that your worth is lacking… that, I find offensive.”

“I find I must agree with my brothers,” Aramis said. “If you wish to play the part because it pleases you to do so, then by all means we are willing. But not if it will end up reinforcing this erroneous belief in you.”

“I… I may need some time to think on that,” d’Artagnan admitted. “You must understand, that lesson was taught to me most harshly. To turn aside from that way of thinking, it will not be easy for me.”

“Can you tell us about that?” Aramis asked, suddenly finding himself desperately wanting to know just what had happened to their youngest to make him so mistrustful, so unwilling to take a chance where his heart was concerned.

“Not much to tell really,” he hedged then laughed. He lay back against the divan, letting his head come to rest on the back so he could stare up at the ceiling. “There was this girl. I had been seeing her for a while. We were in love. Or I thought we were.”

“How old were you?” Aramis asked.

“Sixteen when we met. Seventeen when she left.”

“What happened?” Athos asked.

“We had been, uh, intimate for a while,” d’Artagnan continued. “She… she scratched me, all down my back. She hadn’t meant to, but it felt really good. I already knew I liked… I liked it to hurt sometimes.”

“And you told her,” Aramis said, seeing where this was going.

“Yeah. I thought I could tell her anything. I mean, she could have told me anything and I would never have turned my back on her. I would never have called her a freak and…”

“She called you a freak?” Porthos interrupted, unable to stop himself.

d’Artagnan nodded. “Said it was perverse and unnatural, me liking it to hurt like that. I think I would have been okay if that was all she had done.”

“But it wasn’t,” Aramis said.

“No,” d’Artagnan confirmed. “She started by telling her brothers. They waited a few days before cornering me. Said that if I liked pain so much they’d gladly give me some. I put up a fight but there were three of them and they were all older than me… bigger.

“It didn’t end there either,” he went on. “She made it a point to tell all of our friends, making me sound like some kind of… of…”

“And they believed her?” Athos asked.

“Yeah,” d’Artagnan replied. “It was her and her brothers all saying the same thing. Everyone I had ever called friend turned their backs on me. And when my father found out, I thought my whole world had ended.”

“Tell me he did not…” Aramis groaned, the thought of d’Artagnan’s own father turning from him too painful to bear.

“No,” d’Artagnan said at once. “He didn’t. But he told me that it was… was wrong, was a sin, and that I could never let anyone find out. Not if I wanted to have any kind of life.”

“Not to speak ill of the dead,” Aramis said softly, “and certainly not of your father, love, but he was wrong. Not you. Your desires are not wrong, they are not a sin and you do not have to hide them. Not from us.”

“I want to believe you,” d’Artagnan said, his eyes growing moist at the memory of that day. His father had held him while he cried out his pain and fear and shame. Held him as he had when he was a child not a man near to grown. And he had loved him, still, despite d’Artagnan having disappointed him so.

“I never had the privilege of knowing your father,” Athos began, “but I know that he was a good man. I know this because only a good man could have raised you for a son. He loved you very much. You were not a disappointment to him, though I know that is surely what you are thinking right now.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because a good man, a man good enough to raise you, would never be disappointed in his son for being who he is,” Athos told him. “He may have worried for you, for what life would hold in store for you. I believe that worry is what guided his words to you. That and his desire to protect you from whatever he could. But he was not disappointed in you. He was not disgusted. He was proud of you until the day he died. Of that, I have no doubt.”

d’Artagnan turned toward Athos then, finally relinquishing his hold on Aramis’ hand. He let Athos pull him into his arms and held him back tightly. He felt Athos settle his head against his shoulder and let him, taking the comfort so freely offered.

They stayed like that for long minutes. With d’Artagnan safely wrapped in Athos’ arms, Aramis let himself lean back against Porthos, taking his own comfort from his lover’s reassuring presence. As he sat going over everything d’Artagnan had shared with them, he had to wonder if this was what it felt like for the other man, this burning need to right the wrong done to him and to make the ones responsible pay.

“At the risk of sounding like a complete hypocrite,” Aramis began, simply unable to hold his tongue one second longer. “Would you perhaps be willing to pass along a name or two?”

d’Artagnan stilled against Athos then choked out a strangled laugh. “No,” he said gasping at the absurdity of Aramis’ request. “First, it was years ago and no true harm done to me. Second, it was a woman, Aramis. It is not as if you can challenge her to a duel.”

“First, I do not care how long ago it was,” Aramis replied. “Second, there was most definitely true harm done. You are still suffering from what they did to you. And finally, she may be a woman, but her brothers are not and they actually put their hands on you in violence.”

“Athos, talk to him,” d’Artagnan appealed.

“What is it you want me to tell him?” Athos asked. “I happen to be in agreement with Aramis in this. They hurt you. They…”

“They were little more than children,” d’Artagnan argued.

“The girl perhaps,” Porthos put in. “But not her brothers. You said yourself they were older than you, bigger, too. And it still took three of them to come after you.”

“And, d’Artagnan,” Aramis said, his voice low and serious in a way it had not been before. “It does not matter to me that it was a woman that hurt you. Her sex will not protect her. I may not be able to challenge her to a duel but that does not mean I cannot exact revenge in your name, it does not mean I cannot make her pay for harming you in such a way. I assure you, if I choose to I can make the rest of her days on this earth a living hell.”


	38. Chapter 38

Part 38

The sound of riders approaching brought Porthos out of the barn. He frowned for a moment before he remembered that Treville and Constance were due out any day now to deliver the branding iron. He saw Athos come out of the house to see who was coming and they both grinned when they saw the Captain and Constance. As soon as the pair had come into view Aramis was out of the house and waiting for them. Even after finding out about Constance and the Captain, he was still anxious to see her again, missing the final member of their makeshift family.

Constance had barely managed to dismount before Aramis was pulling her into his arms and spinning her around. They were both laughing, each of them equally glad to see the other again and confirm with their own eyes that they were fine.

The sound of Treville’s amused chuckle cut through Aramis’ euphoria and he flushed, realizing what he had done. Setting Constance back on her feet, he stepped back. “My apologies,” he said. “I was overcome for a moment.”

“Aramis?” Constance frowned. She looked at Athos and Porthos, looking for some clue as to what was wrong. The guilt she saw on Porthos’ face made her scowl and she reached out and took Aramis by the hand. “Show me around?”

“Of course,” Aramis said at once and led her into the house.

“Can we talk?” Constance asked him carefully when they had reached the back part of the manor. Treville had told her about their appalling idea of branding Aramis again and she wanted to talk to him about it. She also wanted to talk to him about the collar he now wore wrapped around his neck. 

“Of course,” Aramis replied. “I take it you wish to do so privately?”

“Yes,” she said firmly. “I… there are some things I would speak with you about and I would rather do so where the others cannot influence your answers.”

“My brothers do not influence my answers, Constance,” Aramis said with a frown. “But we can speak in here if you like.” He opened the door to one of the spare bedrooms. It was the one d’Artagnan normally made use of when he wished to be alone with him, either to talk or… otherwise. 

“So, how have you been?” Constance asked once the door was safely closed behind them.

“As well as can be expected, I guess,” Aramis replied. “I am healing. I realize I must look quite monstrous now.”

“Rubbish,” she told him. “You look just fine. The scars will fade. And your brothers love you regardless.”

“They do,” Aramis said. “I simply am not looking forward to the stares and whispers my visage is sure to garner once I venture outside these walls.”

“Well, if your brothers hear anything of the sort I’m rather sure they’ll put an end to it.”

“I cannot hide behind them forever,” Aramis said softly.

“It is not hiding to allow them to support you,” she replied. 

“As you say,” Aramis acquiesced, unwilling to argue the point. “But I do not believe this is what you wished to discuss with me.”

“No,” Constance said, drawing in a breath. “May I ask you something?”

“You may ask me anything you wish,” Aramis told her. “Whether or not I answer is another matter.”

“Fair enough,” Constance laughed. “I cannot help but notice your… accessory. Is it from d’Artagnan?”

“Yes,” Aramis said, his hand going to his collar automatically. “He got it for me when he was in Paris.”

“Hmm. He made no mention of it when I saw him,” Constance huffed.

“Perhaps he was unsure how you might react,” Aramis offered. He could see she was somewhat troubled by it, though he was unsure why. “Is there something you find… distasteful about it?”

“What? No. Of course not,” she said at once. “I was merely surprised. And I guess concerned as to how the others might have taken it.”

“Porthos had some little concern at first,” Aramis admitted. “But we were able to talk it out.”

“Oh, that’s good,” she said. She wanted to ask him more about the collar but now was not the time. There were other, more pressing things that needed to be addressed.

“Was there something else you wanted to discuss?” Aramis asked when Constance fell silent.

“Yes,” she said then hesitated. Deciding that the best way would be to just get it over with, she began. “I know they mean well, but the idea of branding you again… Aramis, it’s heinous. You cannot let them do this. You’ve been through enough. You…”

“Branding me? Constance, what are you talking about?” Aramis asked, confused. He felt his stomach clench at even the mention of her mark on him and needed to know what she meant.

“Have they not even bothered to discuss it with you?”

“Discuss what with me?” Aramis demanded hotly.

“They got a brand made,” she explained. “They intend to brand over the mark that vile woman put on you with one of their own. As if one act of mutilation was not enough for you to have to endure.”

Aramis’ eyes widened and, for a moment, he could not draw breath. He thought his heart had stopped then it began to hammer as if it would pound right out of his chest. Without a word, he was up and racing from the room, needing to talk to his brothers at once.

“Is it true?” Aramis asked as he burst into the kitchen where the others were gathered. He saw d’Artagnan make a hasty grab for something on the table and froze.

“Aramis?” Treville called, trying to draw his attention.

“Constance said… she said…”

“What did she say?” Treville asked wearily, afraid he already knew the answer. He had told her about the brand and she had not taken it well. He had told her that it was ultimately Aramis’ decision and had thought that would be the end of it. He could see now that he had been wrong. She had obviously told Aramis, something his brothers were not going to be happy about.

“She said… said you had a brand made,” he finally managed.

“God damn it!” d’Artagnan snarled, pushing back from the table angrily. This was not how they had wanted to tell him. Now, thanks to Constance’s refusal to let things be, any serenity Aramis had managed to achieve was gone.

“d’Artagnan, calm yourself,” Athos said, laying a hand on his lover’s arm. He did not like the dangerous glint in the younger man’s eyes. As Porthos was so fond of saying, d’Artagnan was murderously protective of Aramis on a good day.

“She had no right,” d’Artagnan spat.

“I had every right,” Constance argued, entering the kitchen. She grabbed Aramis by the arm and pulled him back so she was standing in front of him facing d'Artagnan. "And you are not doing this to him."

"Constance, the decision is not yours to make," Aramis said softly. He appreciated her wanting to protect him, but he did not need protection from his brothers. Not from them and not from this.

She rounded on him then and looked him up and down. "As if you are in any condition to make such a decision for yourself," she scoffed. "Are you nothing but his obedient little slave now? Does that collar around your neck suddenly give him the right to tell you what to do? Is that how he convinced you to let them mutilate you even more?"

"That is enough!" d'Artagnan roared, jerking his arm from Athos' grip and grabbing her roughly. "You will shut your mouth. Do you understand me?"

"d'Artagnan, let her go, son," Treville said, his voice quiet but firm. 

d'Artagnan glared at him but did as he said, shoving her toward him angrily. He reached out to Aramis and pulled him toward him, his movements as gentle now as they had been harsh a moment ago. 

“Be quiet," Treville said when Constance opened her mouth to protest. “This was between them. It was for them to present to him as they saw fit, not for you to spring on him when he was ill prepared to deal with it.”

“It is wrong,” she said vehemently.

“In your eyes,” Athos said calmly. “I dare say Aramis would disagree with you. And before you argue, you do not know. You do not know what it is like to bear the mark of something vile upon you. And you have not been here, helping him try to learn to live with it, knowing he will feel its weight upon him for the rest of his life.”

“You weren’t here when he took a blade to his own flesh to try to cut it off,” Porthos put in. “You think I like this? The idea of hurting him again? I hate it. But I know that mark on him is hurting him more than any pain we could ever cause him.”

“Regardless, the choice is Aramis’,” Athos said. He placed his hand on d’Artagnan’s arm once more. He could feel how tense the other man was and worried about what he might do if he let go of him. He knew he would not hurt Constance, but he would not put it past him to bodily eject her from the house. Considering her relationship with the Captain, that would not bode well for any of them.

“I think it might be best if we took our leave,” Treville said diplomatically. “Perhaps, when Aramis is feeling up to it, you might consider a trip into the city.”

“Perhaps,” Athos said with a tilt of his head.

Athos and Porthos bid the pair goodbye, leaving d’Artagnan and Aramis in the kitchen. “I am sorry,” Aramis said.

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” d’Artagnan told him. “I’m only sorry you found out the way you did. We were going to tell you once they left. Explain it all to you and everything.”

“You can still do that,” Aramis said. “In fact, I wish you would. I would like to understand. I… I would not have thought this was something any of you would even consider doing, let alone something the three of you would agree upon.”

“We know how much it hurts you,” Porthos said as he and Athos came back inside. “We would do anything to take that pain from you. If it means causing you some temporary pain now, to your body, to ease the pain in your soul, well…”

“We are willing,” Athos said. “The choice, however, is yours. You do not have to do this. You do not have to do this now if you are simply not ready. The offer will always stand.”

“Can we go into the sitting room?” Aramis asked. “I would like to be closer to you all while we talk about this.”

“Of course,” d’Artagnan said. He stood up from the table then stopped. “Do you want me to bring it so you can take a look?”

“Yes, please,” Aramis replied.

They settled in their usual places with Aramis and d’Artagnan in the middle. d’Artagnan handed Aramis the brand and let him examine it. “Athos drew the designs and then we all decided together on which one we liked best,” he explained. 

“I chose a cross to represent your unshakable faith and the fleur-de-lis to represent the four of us, our brotherhood,” Athos said. “They encircle the cross to show our protection of it, of you. I hope it meets with your satisfaction.”

“I do not believe anyone could have come up with something more appropriate than this,” Aramis said, his eyes never leaving it. “It is… it is the heart of us. I would be honored to wear this on me, even if it were not being used to cover that devil-mark.”

“So you want to do it then?” Porthos asked. “You want to go through with it?”

“Yes,” Aramis replied. He looked up then, looking at each of his brothers in turn.

“I have a request,” d’Artagnan said. “I would ask that you think on this for tonight and do not give us your final answer until the morning.”

“A few hours will not change my mind, d’Artagnan.”

“I know,” he said. “But can you do this? For me? I would know that this is truly what you want, that you have not made the decision in haste without thinking it through.”

Aramis could see the honest concern on their youngest’s face and nodded. “I will do as you ask. It will not make a difference, but I will give it the careful consideration that you wish me to.”

“There is one other thing,” d’Artagnan said.

“What is it?”

“For the brand to be recognizable… it will need to be laid down more than once,” he explained.

“Oh,” Aramis said softly. He had not considered that. d’Artagnan was right, of course. While a single branding would be enough to obliterate her mark, it would not be enough to make their mark discernible. And he found that he wanted that.

“Aramis?” Athos called, worry coloring his voice.

“How many times?” Aramis asked suddenly.

“It’s hard to say for sure,” d’Artagnan replied. “We… I thought… three perhaps.”

“Three,” Aramis repeated. “Once for each of you. I… I like that. I mean, not that I like the thought of being branded, let alone branded three times, but if we are going to do this then… then I would have us do it right. If I am to wear my brothers’ mark, then I would have my brothers place it on me, each in turn. Is that… are you willing?”

“I do not know if I can,” Porthos admitted, turning away. He was ashamed of letting Aramis down in this but he truly did not know if he could do this, could take a white-hot branding iron to his lover’s flesh.

“Will you try?” Aramis asked. “If you cannot, I understand and I will not push you in this, my love.”

“I can try,” Porthos told him. “I cannot promise anything more than that.”

“That you would be willing to try is more than enough for me,” Aramis told him. “And if you do not even wish to do that much, I will understand. If it were you, I do not know if I could bring myself to do it either.”

Having discussed all they really needed to for the time being, Aramis retired to the library. He wanted some time to think, as d’Artagnan had requested, as well as to prepare himself for the coming ordeal. He knew it would be an ordeal. The original branding had been hellish. He knew this one would not be quite so difficult as he would not have to do the deed himself, and yet, knowing one of his brothers, his lovers, was being forced to do so was almost worse. 

With his rosary clutched in his hands, Aramis began to pray. He ran through the entire rosary then began to pray for God’s guidance to make the right decision and His strength to endure the upcoming trial. He prayed for his brothers as well, for God to lend them His strength, to guide them as well so that they would not falter when the time came. Finally, he thanked God for helping his brothers find this solution, this way to cleanse him of the evil taint that she had cursed him with.

While Aramis occupied himself in the library, d’Artagnan remained in the sitting room, staring into the unlit fireplace. The closer it got to the branding actually happening, the more nervous he became. This had been his idea, after all. If anything went wrong, it was on his head. Not only that, but with Porthos all but admitting he would not be able to do it and Athos looking decidedly ill at the thought, he knew the onus would fall to him. He was going to have to take a burning iron and sear it into his lover’s flesh. He was ashamed to admit that he had not considered that eventuality when he had proposed what he considered an elegant solution to Aramis’ dilemma. Now that the time had come, however, the reality was proving more difficult to bear than he had imagined.

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

Athos and Porthos sat across from one another at the kitchen table. It was obvious that d’Artagnan needed some time to himself, as did Aramis. That suited the two men fine, they needed some time to think things over themselves, they just preferred not to do so alone.

“Do you really think you can do it?” Porthos asked, his hands nervously playing with the saltcellar on the table.

“No,” Athos admitted. “Though I do not know what choice I have. You know as well as I that he will not change his mind no matter how long d’Artagnan makes him think it over.”

“I do,” Porthos agreed. “Athos… I don’t… I don’t think I can do it. Watching him in that dungeon was bad enough, but to have to do it myself…”

“I know,” Athos replied miserably. “For all that I pushed for this, I did not truly consider the reality of it. Of what it would mean… what it would require of us.”

“I will do it,” d’Artagnan said from the doorway. He had come in search of his brothers and heard them talking. He would not force them to do this. The idea had been his. He should be the one to bear the burden of it.

“d’Artagnan…” Athos began only to hesitate. He looked at Porthos and saw the hope in his eyes. Even so, he knew he would never agree just for himself. If Athos and d’Artagnan both went through with it, he would feel he had no choice. “Are you sure?”

“I am sure that I would rather this than watch either of you suffer,” he replied. It was the best answer he could give. He was, in truth, not sure at all. The thought of hurting Aramis in such a way, of _burning_ him, sickened him, yet he had no choice. Not without failing the man utterly and that was something he would not do.

“I promised him I would try,” Porthos reminded them.

“Then you will at least need to do so,” d’Artagnan told him. “But he will not hold it against you when you cannot. As long as the act is carried out by one of us, he will be satisfied.”

Dinner was a quiet affair for them with each man absorbed in his own thoughts. d’Artagnan’s nervousness was obvious but the others were at a loss as to how to help him. Athos and Porthos were nervous as well but they knew the parts they would play would be much less demanding than their youngest’s and they worried more for his sake than their own.

“You are troubled,” Aramis said as Athos and Porthos cleared the table. d’Artagnan was still not allowed to do anything thanks to his hand and Aramis, well, his brothers still insisted on cosseting him relentlessly. “Is it your fight with Constance that is troubling you?”

“No,” d’Artagnan snorted. “Though she would be wise to keep her distance for the foreseeable future.”

“d’Artagnan,” Aramis gasped. “You cannot mean that.”

“Can’t I?” he challenged. “She attacked you. No one does that. I do not care who they are.”

“She did not attack me,” Aramis tried to reason.

“She attacked your right to decide for yourself what you wished to do,” he said. “She tried to persuade you that you lacked the ability to make your own choice in this matter. I am sorry, Little One, but I can see that as nothing less than an attack on you.”

“I had not expected you to grow so angry with her,” Aramis admitted, changing the subject. “I believe you may have frightened her.”

“I do not believe she is the only one that I frightened. I am sorry if I did so. Frightening you was never my intent.”

“If it is not Constance that troubles you then what is it?” Aramis asked, not commenting on what d’Artagnan said about frightening him. In truth, he had been a bit taken aback by the younger man’s vehemence. He would not go so far as to say that it had scared him, at least not where he himself was concerned. 

“It is nothing for you to worry about,” d’Artagnan told him. “I am merely… preparing myself for what tomorrow might bring.”

“I do not mean to… Constance was right… I have no right…” Aramis stammered, his words tripping over themselves in a panic.

“Aramis,” d’Artagnan said softly, cupping the side of his marred face, his thumb gently stroking over the freshly healing scars. 

“You… you are touching…”

“You,” d’Artagnan told him. “I am touching you.” He could feel Aramis trembling slightly under his hand, but he kept it there. It was past time they stopped avoiding the marks left upon their lover’s body. They would soon begin ridding him of the worst of them. It was time they began helping him accept the rest.

“You should not. They are disgusting,” Aramis said weakly though he did not pull away from his touch.

“They are you. Nothing about you is disgusting to any of us. You are wholly precious and we love you as you are.”

“Listen to the Whelp, love,” Porthos said. “He’s got the right of it as usual.”

They retired to their shared room that night, needing the closeness. d’Artagnan took the wall again, much to everyone’s displeasure. He used the excuse of his hand again but he really just needed the distance. He knew as well as the others what Aramis’ decision was going to be. He needed to be prepared for it, and for that, he needed some distance.

“If I am asking too much of you,” Aramis began, steeling himself for the possible answer.

“You are not,” d’Artagnan told him simply. “The idea was mine in the first place. I will not shy away from it now that the hour has come round.”

“Master…”

“Shhh, Little One,” d’Artagnan said, rising up so he could look over Athos at Aramis. “I am near and your lovers are next to you. Give them the comfort that they need tonight.”

“Porthos? Athos?” Aramis called, looking back and forth at his lovers in concern. 

“All is well, Aramis,” Athos said, wishing he could turn over and swat d’Artagnan for shrewdly shifting Aramis’ focus from himself to them.

“Clearly not or d’Artagnan would not have felt the need to mention it as he did,” Aramis countered.

“We are merely nervous about tomorrow,” Porthos said. “Same as him. We do not like hurting you, love, and we know that this will. Not that we do not understand your desire for it. We do and we support it fully, but that does not mean we like the thought of the pain that you have to endure to see this through.”

“I know that none of you enjoy hurting me, that you find it painful yourselves,” Aramis said. “That you would willingly put yourselves through such a thing for me… I cannot express my gratitude, or my… my joy at you three having found a way to rid me of this taint.”

“You are not tainted,” Athos told him sternly. He leaned forward then and covered Aramis’ mouth with his own. As he did so, he brought his hand up slowly and caressed the side of his scarred face. He let his fingers drag over the raised flesh, his calluses catching slightly. He felt Aramis go still beneath his hand then begin to shake.

Aramis had to close his eyes as he felt Athos’ hand touching him there. Other than to treat his wound, none of them had touched him there until d’Artagnan had in the sitting room earlier. To feel Athos’ hand, touching him, was as reassuring as it was nerve-wracking. He could not see how they could find those marks upon his face, ugly and red, as anything other than disgusting. Yet both of them touched him as if were still precious, as if the marks themselves were precious.

“I love you,” Athos told him when he broke the kiss. He placed another kiss to Aramis’ forehead then leaned over him and placed a soft kiss to each of the dark red lines marring his face. He heard Aramis suck in a breath when he ignored his reaction and settled back beside him when he was done.

After Athos released him, Porthos gave him a moment to catch his breath, before pulling him back against him. He raised himself up on one arm so he was looking down at him then leaned down and gently nuzzled the marks on his lover’s face. He heard Aramis bite off a cry as he did so but, like Athos, he did stop, continuing to nuzzle and lick the marred flesh gently, careful not to let his beard chafe it and make it sore. 

Long minutes passed before Porthos finally kissed along his jaw to his mouth and took it in a searing kiss. When he pulled back, Aramis managed to look both stunned and fearful at once. It was a somewhat disconcerting combination and Porthos rubbed his finger over his lips, hoping to ease him.

“It wasn’t us who found the way, you know,” Porthos said after a moment. “It was your Master. We may have helped decide on the final design, but this was his doing.”

“He takes his duty of care to you very seriously, Aramis,” Athos added. “If you are hurting, he will not stop until he finds a way to ease your pain.”

“I do not deserve such devotion,” Aramis said, his voice quiet as he struggled to find his words.

“On the contrary,” d’Artagnan’s voice called out. “Aside from your brothers beside you, I can think of no other as deserving as you.”

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

When d’Artagnan awoke, he was not surprised to find Aramis already awake. “Did you sleep at all last night?” he asked. 

“A bit,” Aramis said. “Though not much. I could not seem to stop thinking about it.”

“You have made your decision then?”

“Yes.”

“Well, don’t keep us waiting,” Porthos said.

“I want it gone from me,” Aramis told them. “I do not care how much it hurts. I do not care how many times it must be repeated. I… I wish to wear your mark, the mark of our house, not this abomination she cursed me with.”

“Very well,” d’Artagnan replied. He had been preparing himself for such all night. Hearing the passion, the vehemence, in Aramis’ voice now only strengthened his resolve to see this through.

“When did you wish to do it?” Athos asked.

“Would now be too soon?” Aramis asked, his words coming out in a breathless laugh that contained more than a trace of hysteria.

“Let us dress and gather what we need,” d’Artagnan said. “Is there a place in particular where you would prefer us to carry this out?” There were, of course, any number of places where they could perform the branding, from the kitchen to the sitting room to the barn and beyond. Each of them hand their merits, but d’Artagnan knew that wherever they performed it, it would be a very long time before even the sight of the place stopped affecting him. And not in a good way.

“I… I am not sure,” Aramis said, licking his lips anxiously as they all got up and began dressing. “Was there a place you had in mind?”

“No,” d’Artagnan replied, not wanting the choice to be his.

“In that case, could we do it in the glade?” Aramis asked. “I know it is a bit removed from the house, but… it has always brought me peace.”

“If that is where you wish it to be done, then that is where we shall do it,” d’Artagnan said. “I will go on ahead and begin preparing. It will take some time to heat the brand. Perhaps you could get the salve and bandages ready for afterwards while I am gone.”

“You don’t want one of us to go with you, lad?” Porthos asked.

“No,” d’Artagnan answered. “Stay with Aramis. Give me half an hour then the three of you can head to the glade. Everything should be close to ready by then.”

“Alright,” Athos agreed before the others could argue. He could see how stressed that d’Artagnan was becoming and thought a few minutes to himself might help him to find the focus he would need.

“You want us to bring a bucket to douse the fire with?” Porthos asked as the other man gathered the branding iron and headed for the door.

“Yes. And a blanket for Aramis. He will not be able to put his shirt back on and we will need to be mindful of shock.”

Once outside, d’Artagnan hurried to the glade, wanting to make the most of the short amount of time he had. He chose a spot well away from where Aramis normally rested while there, not wanting to disrupt the peace he found. The site chosen, he built up a small fire and shoved the iron down into the heart of it. It would need to be as hot as possible when the time came to use it. d’Artagnan could not afford to mess this up.

When they got to the glade, they found d’Artagnan crouched beside a small fire. He stood up when he saw them and wiped his hands down the front of his breeches. It was a nervous gesture, but he could not stop it. He would worry until the deed was done. Likely well after, if he was honest with himself, for any wound had the potential to become infected and burns even more so.

“Are you certain you wish to do this?” Aramis asked, seeing how anxious their youngest was. He wanted this, he wanted it with all his heart, but not at the expense of one of his brothers. If this was going to cost d’Artagnan too much then he would not ask this of him. 

“If you are asking me if I wish to cause you pain, the answer is no,” d’Artagnan said. “But if you are asking me if I wish to help rid you of that foul mark upon you, then the answer is yes. And since my desire to do that far outweighs my reluctance to cause you a pain that I know will be but temporary, the answer as whole is yes.”

“I do not wish to cause you distress,” Aramis replied.

“I know,” d’Artagnan told him. “And that knowledge eases my heart a very great deal. But surely you know me better than to think that I would leave you with the burden of that mark. Especially now that we have found a way to rid you of it.”

“I would not have you do so at your own expense.”

“I do not give a damn about the cost to me,” d’Artagnan countered, yet his voice was soft and gentle. He understood Aramis’ reluctance to cause them pain in this. That same reluctance to see his brothers in pain was what had driven him to agree to take on the burden of the brandings himself, so that Athos and Porthos would not have to endure it.

“I do,” Aramis said just as softly.

“You always do,” d’Artagnan acknowledged. “But this time, your welfare far outweighs any potential hurt to me. You have had to carry this for far too long already. Let us begin the process of taking it from you now.”

“I am not going to argue,” Aramis said as he began untying his cuffs so he could remove his shirt. “I want it too much to continue to do so. Just… just promise me you will not be doing harm to yourself in doing this.”

“I promise I will be doing no lasting harm to myself,” d’Artagnan said carefully. He turned back to the fire before Aramis could object to his wording and stirred the iron around. “Athos and Porthos are going to hold you, to keep you from moving as I lay the brand down. Is that acceptable?”

“Yes,” Aramis said, licking his lips and looking back and forth between the two men. 

“Do you wish to be standing for this?” d’Artagnan asked him as he turned back to face him once more. “Or would you rather be on your knees?”

“Master?” Aramis said, unsure. The thought of being on his knees, held by his brothers, while his Master stood over him and erased that hateful mark from his body… Aramis had to close his eyes against the wash of feelings that assailed him in that moment and he sucked in several deep breaths to try to steady himself.

“You like the thought of that? Of being on your knees for it?” d’Artagnan stroked his face as he spoke, letting his thumb brush over his scars again. He felt Aramis tense for a moment then relax into his touch.

“I am always happy to be on my knees for you, Master,” Aramis replied.

“Will you two still be able to hold him like that?” d’Artagnan asked Athos and Porthos.

“Yeah,” Porthos replied. “Just means we’ll have to kneel down with him. We can hold him, though. Don’t worry about us.”

“Porthos is correct,” Athos said as well. “We will do our part. You need have no worry.”

d’Artagnan nodded at his brothers then stepped closer to Aramis. “May I kiss you first?” he asked, his thumb again stroking over his marred cheek, the slightly raised scars catching against his thumb.

“Please,” Aramis replied. He was suddenly eager for d’Artagnan’s kiss, to feel his touch, soft and comforting, before the ordeal he knew was to come. 

d’Artagnan kissed him slowly, his hand never leaving his face. He explored his mouth as if he had never kissed him before, tasting him slowly and deeply, savoring him in a way he did not often have the patience for. Only when Aramis was gripping his waist and moaning quietly into his mouth, did d’Artagnan finally pull away.

“Take off your shirt and get on your knees for me, love,” d’Artagnan instructed him. 

His hands were shaking so hard that Athos and Porthos had to help him get his shirt off. Once he was naked from the waist up, he knelt down between his brothers and looked up at d’Artagnan anxiously. Now that the hour was upon them, his apprehension was starting to grow. He could remember all too well the searing pain of shoving that burning metal into his flesh. Swallowing against a sudden wave of nausea, Aramis braced himself as best he could. His brothers were there. They were with him and they would not let him fall.

“Are you ready?” d’Artagnan asked him, nodding to Athos and Porthos.

“Yes,” Aramis replied in a strained voice.

d’Artagnan turned and took the branding iron from the fire. The end of it glowed white-hot and he blew on it to remove any bits of ash from the fire. “Keep your eyes open,” he told Aramis. “I want you to see who is doing this to you. I want you to know that it is your brothers who are taking that abomination and making it our own.”

“Yes, Master,” Aramis said, his voice stronger in answer to his Master’s words.

“Hold him,” d’Artagnan told the others and waited for them to comply. Once Athos and Porthos had a tight grip on Aramis, he closed the short distance between them. Holding the iron tightly, he brought it up so that it was even with the mark on Aramis’ shoulder. 

Taking a deep breath, d’Artagnan thrust the brand forward hard and fast. A part of him was pleased to see that their brand managed to cover the mark Bathory had left entirely, the rest was doing all he could to keep from being sick then and there as he held the burning iron to Aramis’ tender flesh. 

Aramis tried to hold in his pain as his Master pressed the iron to his flesh. He knew how hard this was on his lovers and had no wish to make it even more so. The mind, however, was a complex organ and would do what it needed to in order to protect itself. Such as softening the edges of memories too horrific to bear otherwise. 

Aramis realized, as the pain seared through his shoulder and raced all along his chest and down his arm, that his mind had masked the true extent of the memory of his pain. He had not recalled a fraction of this overwhelming agony and, try as he might, he was unable to keep his moans of pain locked inside himself.

He felt Athos and Porthos both stiffen and tighten their grips on him when the first, mournful sound slipped past his lips. He wished that he could take it back, that he could make this easier on the others, but he was powerless against the all-consuming pain that enveloped him.

Finally, after what felt like forever, d’Artagnan pulled the brand away. The smell of burning flesh nearly made him gag and he had to clench his jaw tight. He turned and threw the brand back into the fire, letting the heat do the work of cleaning it. When he turned back around, he found Aramis slumped on the ground, panting, his brothers the only things keeping him from collapsing altogether.

“Get him back to the house,” d’Artagnan managed, his voice coming out surprisingly calm despite the fact that all he wanted to do was drop to his knees and scream.

“d’Artagnan?” Athos queried, frowning at his young lover. He did not like the overly calm demeanor that their youngest wore. It was not like him in the least and it worried him greatly.

“I shall take care of things here and join you as quickly as I can,” d’Artagnan told him. “Please, Athos, he needs you more.”

“As you wish,” Athos acquiesced, knowing there really was little choice. He could not leave Porthos to try to get Aramis back to the house by himself. While he was sure that the man could, his brothers both deserved better than that. 

d’Artagnan watched silently as Athos took up the blanket they had brought and wrapped it around Aramis, mindful of his shoulder wound. Then he and Porthos carefully lifted him to his feet and began walking him back toward the house as quickly as they could. d’Artagnan stayed where he was, watching after them, until he could no longer even hear them. 

As soon as he was certain they were far enough away, d’Artagnan’s façade crumbled. He dropped to his knees and began to retch, vomiting up what little there was in his stomach then continuing to dry heave for long, painful minutes. When he finally managed to stop, he was on his hands and knees, gasping for air, with tears streaming down his face.

By the time d’Artagnan finally managed to make it back to the house, after taking care of everything in the glade, he found his three brothers anxiously awaiting him. He no sooner entered the sitting room before Aramis was throwing the blanket from his shoulders and moving toward him. 

“d’Artagnan?” Aramis said softly, the sight of his Master, pale and shaking, making his heart seize painfully in his chest.

“Little One,” d’Artagnan sobbed out, unable to stop himself. “Need you…” He fell to his knees then, kept from crashing painfully to the floor only by Aramis’ strong arms around him. 

Aramis hissed as d’Artagnan’s weight pulled at the fresh wound on his shoulder, but he did not let go, merely sliding down to his knees with him, easing his descent as much as he could. 

“Oh Master,” he whispered as he pulled him into his arms. He felt d’Artagnan trying to resist but even injured, Aramis was able to overcome his weakened struggles. He pulled d’Artagnan’s head down against his good shoulder and held it there as he began to rock him back and forth, one hand holding his head in place and the other running up and down his back.

As soon as they had seen d’Artagnan start to crumple, Athos and Porthos had moved. They rushed to the pair, going to their own knees on either side of them. They glanced at one another over Aramis’ head and each read the guilt in the other’s eyes. They had known this would be hard on the boy but they had never dreamed it would be this difficult.

“I’m so sorry. Forgive me. Please, forgive me,” d’Artagnan cried, his hands clutching at Little One’s waist. He had never wanted to hurt this precious man and he had. He had wounded him all over again, making him relive the horror that demon had put him through. He felt sick at the memory of it. He could still smell the scent of Aramis’ flesh burning as he had pressed the brand home and he felt his gorge rise again, though he knew there was nothing left within him to bring up.

“Master, no,” Aramis soothed. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You did nothing wrong. Oh Master, please…”

“I hu-hu-hurt you, Little One,” d’Artagnan sobbed. “I hu-hu-hurt you. I swore I would n-n-n-never hurt you. But I did.”

“No, Master, no,” Little One said, his own eyes filling with tears at the anguish in his Master’s voice. “You did not hurt me. You caused me pain, yes. But it… it was to heal me. To make me whole again. To make me _clean_ again. Master, please. If I had known it would cause you this much pain, I would never have allowed you to do it.”

“Nothing I would not endure for you,” d’Artagnan whispered brokenly. “Nothing… Oh God… I burned you…”

“You healed me,” Little One insisted, refusing to even acknowledge d’Artagnan’s comment about burning him. He would be halving a long talk with his brothers about the fact that they all seemed to have forgotten what their youngest had told them about his dislike of being burned. But that was for later. Right now, his Master needed him.

“I …” d’Artagnan began but Aramis cut him off before he could say anything more.

“You healed me, Master,” Little One insisted. “I was… was tainted. Her mark upon me, you knew how it weighed on me, how it ate at me. You have lifted that from me. I would gladly endure any amount of pain to be free of it and you knew that… you still know it. I am just so sorry that it has caused you such pain. Your Little One, he never wishes to cause you pain.”

“You forgive me?” d’Artagnan asked him, his voice muffled by Aramis’ shoulder.

“There is nothing to forgive,” Little One moaned. “I would rather you have left that foul mark on me than have done this to yourself.”

“No,” d’Artagnan argued, his voice strained. “You wanted it gone. It… it hurt you… just knowing it was there was hurting you. I could not leave you like that. I could not stand idly by and do nothing while my Little One was in pain.”

“Then do not torture yourself for it now, Master,” Aramis came back. “I love you so much. That you would do this for me… that you would put yourself through such hell for me. That you even toiled as you did to find a solution in the first place, after I had already given up of ever being free of it… I have never in my life known such care as I have known at your hands.”

“You are more precious to me than life,” d’Artagnan told him. “Do you not understand that? I would sell my soul for you. I would give up… everything if I knew it would protect you.”

They fell silent after that, with Aramis continuing to rock his Master in his arms. He could feel d’Artagnan trembling still and it made his eyes sting and his heart ache. If it had been anything else, anything other than that damnable mark on his soul, he knew he would be regretting every having agreed to it. As it was, he regretted allowing d’Artagnan to be the one to do it. He should have taken care of it himself. He had done so in that dungeon, he would have been able to do so again. To force his Master to do something so heinous to him was nothing short of cruel and Aramis loathed himself for his selfishness. 

“What can we do?” Athos asked from beside him, not wanting to disturb d’Artagnan when he seemed to be calming.

“Give us a moment then help me get him to his room,” Aramis said.

“His room?” Porthos asked, not liking the sound of that. He did not want the Whelp away from them. In truth, he did not want Aramis away from them so soon after having endured being branded again, but at the moment he was even more concerned for their youngest.

“I am not sure if he can take being surrounded by everyone,” Aramis said. 

“I can bear it,” d’Artagnan mumbled. “They cannot countenance the thought of being away from you after what you have gone through. Please do not try to make them for my sake.”

“If it is too much…” Athos began.

“I am sorry,” d’Artagnan said, raising his head from Aramis’ shoulder. “I did not mean to make it sound as though being near my brothers was a hardship for me. It is not. You know my nature. When I am wounded, I hide. I am learning to behave in other ways, but these things take time. Please, can we go to our room? All of us?”

“Course we can,” Porthos said. “Let us help you up, though. We don’t need you taking a fall and landing on that hand.”

“Thank you, brother,” d’Artagnan said softly. He let Porthos help him to his feet and did not protest when he led him to their shared room. He ached for Little One, even though he had just left him. Being apart from him right now, even a separation as short as this one, tore at him.

“Aramis,” Athos said, taking the man by the arm and stopping him before he could follow after the pair. “Is he alright?”

“I don’t know,” Aramis admitted. “I did not know this would be so hard on him. If I had…”

“None of us would have let him do this,” Athos told him. “We… we would have forced ourselves to do it rather than let the burden fall to him. I did not think…”

“None of us did,” Aramis told him. “But enough of this for now. He needs me.”

“Go,” Athos told him. “Be what he needs you to for as long as he needs it. And know that we are here for you both as well.”

Aramis hurried after the pair, relieved to find Porthos sitting d’Artagnan down on the side of the bed when he walked in. He nodded his thanks and went straight to the other man, kneeling down in front of him. His shoulder was beginning to throb painfully, but he ignored it. He was much more concerned for his Master. d’Artagnan was calmer but still seemed on the brink of going into shock and Aramis was growing more worried with each passing moment. 

“Has no one yet treated your shoulder?” d’Artagnan asked, eyeing the red and blistered flesh warily.

“Ah, um, no, not yet,” Aramis answered, caught off-guard by the question. 

“Porthos, can you get the salve and bandages?” d’Artagnan asked as he took Aramis by the arms and moved him up to sit on the bed beside him. “Some water and clothes, too.”

“Yeah, I’ll be right back,” Porthos said. He met Athos in the hallway and had him help gather the requested supplies. They also grabbed one of Porthos’ clean shirts on the way back for Aramis to put on. They thought the larger shirt might be easier for him to get in and out of and put less stress on his wound.

When they got back, they found the two men side by side on the bed. d’Artagnan was holding Aramis’ hand tightly as he examined his shoulder. He was careful not to actually touch it, knowing how painful it must be and that he would have no choice but to do so when he treated it.

“Here’re the things you asked for,” Porthos said as he laid the items out on top of the bureau. He laid the shirt down on the bed for afterward then stepped back, unsure now what more might be needed of him.

“Would you rather one of us tend to the wound?” Athos asked, not wanting d’Artagnan to have to endure any more than he already had today.

“No,” he replied without taking his eyes from Aramis. He had caused the injury, it would be up to him to take care of it now.

“We do not mind, love,” Athos said, coming over to the pair and crouching down next to d’Artagnan. “It is obvious you have reached your limit and then some. There is no shame in letting another shoulder the burden for a time.”

“I am the one who hurt him…”

“No,” Aramis said sharply. “You did not hurt me. You did not and I refuse to listen to you say otherwise. What you have given me is a _gift_ , Master.”

“As you wish, Little One,” d’Artagnan acquiesced. “I would still prefer to tend to his wound myself, Athos. I appreciate the offer, but I will not be able to rest otherwise.”

“We get it,” Porthos said. “Just know that we’re here for you. Both of you. Now how about you get him seen to and we all lay down for a bit? I think we could all use a bit of a rest after everything.”

d’Artagnan began by carefully washing the entire area. He soaked one of the rags and patted it over the wound, letting the water run down Aramis’ bare chest. Afterward, he took another towel and gently patted the area dry. Freshly cleaned, the wound looked even worse to d’Artagnan, the marks standing out dark red and obviously painful. He took up the salve then and dipped his fingers into it, coating them. Taking a deep breath, he brought them to Aramis’ shoulder and began carefully applying the salve to the wound, making sure to cover it liberally. 

He tried not to wince when he felt Aramis stiffen at his touch. He heard him draw in a sharp breath and his eyes cut to his face, trying to gauge his pain. “Little One?”

“I am alright,” he replied, though the pain in his voice was easy to hear. “You may proceed.”

Knowing it had to be done, d’Artagnan worked as quickly as he could. He made sure to cover the entire would and the surrounding area before setting the salve aside. He wiped his hand off on the dampened rag and then picked up the bandages. He folded a square and laid it over the wound then wrapped the remaining bandages around it to hold it in place. The thick salve would keep the wound from sticking to the bandage and the bandage would protect the wound and keep anything from rubbing against it and irritating it.

Finally finished, d’Artagnan sagged back. He felt ready to collapse and only the fact that he was already sitting on the bed kept him from doing so. He felt his Little One take his hand and squeeze it and he looked over at him. Even in pain, he was more concerned for him than for himself and d’Artagnan wished he could pull him into his arms and hold him.

“You feel up to trying to put a shirt on, ‘Mis?” Porthos asked. “Or do you want to wait until later for that?”

“Later, I think,” Aramis replied. His shoulder was hurting quite badly and he did not want to do anything else to aggravate the injury. Moreover, he was not sure his Master could withstand watching him endure any more pain right now. 

“Let’s get you two into bed then,” Athos said. He saw d’Artagnan move back, as if intending to lie next to the wall again and Athos placed his hand on his shoulder, stopping him. “Not this time. I think your Little One needs you a bit closer than that.”

d’Artagnan’s head jerked up to regard Aramis and he nodded, seeing the raw need on the other man’s face. Of course Aramis needed him close right now. After everything he had endured, it was only natural that he was feeling vulnerable and Little One always looked to him in such times.

“Porthos, can you help Aramis?” Athos asked as he helped d’Artagnan to stand. He said nothing more as he began stripping d’Artagnan out of his clothes. When he reached the younger man’s smalls, d’Artagnan grabbed his hands stopping him.

“Please, Master,” Aramis said softly. He had seen the other man hesitate when Athos went to remove the last of his clothes. He would not press if his Master truly did not feel comfortable being so exposed now, but he thought it had more to do with the man not wishing to intrude upon him in some way and that was something Aramis could not stand. 

Without a word, d’Artagnan removed his hands from Athos’, allowing him to finish undressing him. Once he was naked, Athos made short work of his own clothes then climbed onto the bed, pulling d’Artagnan along behind him. Once they were settled, he nodded to Porthos and the man helped a naked Aramis onto the bed as well, being careful not to put any undue pressure on his shoulder.

“Alright?” Porthos asked as he slid in behind him.

“I am fine,” Aramis said. He had been unable to hold in a hiss of discomfort as he had gotten situated but the pain was already receding. The combination of the salve on the wound and the presence of his lovers surrounding him eased the worst of it and he found himself relaxing more than he had thought he would be able to.

“Master?” Aramis called, his Master far too away for his liking. He held out his arm, making his desire quite clear then waited. He would push no more than this. It would be up to his Master if he chose to indulge him or not.

“I do not wish to hurt you,” d’Artagnan told him as he struggled not to move into Aramis’ embrace immediately. 

“Your distance is more painful to me than any slight hurt you could cause me,” Little One replied. 

The wounded sound that came from d’Artagnan would not be one the other three men ever forgot. Choking back a sob, the younger man inched forward slowly, closing the distance between them while jostling Aramis as little as possible. Once they were pressed together everywhere except at Aramis’ wounded shoulder, d’Artagnan let out a shuddering breath and squeezed his eyes shut tight.

“I am here,” Little One told him. “I am here, Master. I am here, safe and sane and whole, because of you, because of how you fought to bring me back to myself. I am here and I will not leave you, Master.”

“Forgive me,” d’Artagnan whispered desperately. His forehead was pressed to Aramis’ own, his lips so close to the other man’s that they could feel each other’s breath as they spoke.

As much as he did not want to, as much as it went against everything within him to do so, Aramis closed his eyes and said the words his Master so clearly needed to hear. “I forgive you, Master. I forgive you.”

It took no more than that for d’Artagnan’s composure to break completely. Athos and Porthos both moved in closer to the pair, lending their unwavering support as d’Artagnan cried in Aramis’ arms. When he fell into an exhausted sleep, all of them felt thoroughly wrung out and it was not long before they joined him.

When Aramis awoke a few hours later, it was to find his Master peppering his face with soft, gentle kisses. “I am sorry,” d’Artagnan whispered as he continued to place kisses all over his lover’s face. “I did not mean to wake you.”

“If I am to be awoken, this would be one of my preferred methods,” Aramis replied. “Do you feel better, my Master?”

“Yes,” d’Artagnan replied. “I am still sorry that I hurt you, Little One, but I know that it is what you needed. I will never deny you something you need for my own sake.”

“At least the hard part is over now for you,” Little One said. He felt his Master go still in his arms and frowned. “Surely just watching it take place will not be as traumatic for you as having to administer the brand yourself.”

“No,” d’Artagnan agreed. “It would not be.”

Aramis’ eyes widened and he shook his head, rearing back from d’Artagnan. “No,” he said vehemently. “No. You have endured enough. We… we simply will not do the others. If… if they cannot then…”

“Hush, Little One,” d’Artagnan said softly but firmly. He was pleased when Aramis’ mouth snapped shut at once. “We will do whatever is best for you. Even if I have to lay that brand down a dozen times, I will do so.”

“Master, no,” Aramis said plaintively.

“Hush,” d’Artagnan said again. “I know you do not wish to hurt me. I do not think it will be quite so bad the next time. I will, at least, be better prepared for it. However, I will not shy away from my duty to you. I have failed in many things. This will not become one of them.”

“We can do our parts,” Athos said from over d’Artagnan’s shoulder. He had come awake when they were talking and knew Porthos probably had as well. He had to admit, he was in agreement with Aramis, he did not want to see d’Artagnan have to go through this again. Yet, he was not at all certain that he _could_ do what the lad had done.

“We have had this discussion,” d’Artagnan reminded him without taking his attention from Aramis. “You are both doing your parts. Your parts simply differ from mine. I will not see you both suffer needlessly in this, Athos.”

“Needlessly?” Porthos scoffed, incredulously. 

“Yes,” d’Artagnan replied. “For there it is needless when I can do it for you, when I would willingly do so. You did not ask this of me, I offered when I saw how you both struggled with it.”

“Master…”

“Shhh,” d’Artagnan soothed. “I will have weeks to prepare before you are healed enough to do this again. I will be ready this time, or at least more so. You will trust me in this, Little One.”

“Yes, Master,” Aramis relented. He had trusted his Master thus far, with so many things he thought he would never be able to trust to another living soul. He would continue to do so. His Master would not lead him astray. And when his Master needed him, he would find his strength once more and be what he needed him to be.

“Tell you what, why don’t you two wait here while me and Athos fix us all something to eat?” Porthos said, feeling just as guilty as Athos for what they were putting their youngest through and knowing that it would not end here. It would not matter what they said now, d’Artagnan would never let them take on this task. 

“I am not sure if eating would be wise,” d’Artagnan said, remembering his violent retching from before.

“Can you try?” Aramis asked, realizing why his Master was hesitant. He was not surprised that he had become ill, though it pained him to imagine him distressed to such a degree and alone.

“If it will ease you, then I shall try,” d’Artagnan told him.

“We’ll fix something light,” Athos said as he began extricating himself from the bed. “You two just stay here. Porthos and I will bring it in here.”

“That is not necessary,” d’Artagnan said.

“No,” Athos agreed. “But you will allow us this nonetheless. Think of it as an impromptu picnic, if you will.”

Athos and Porthos donned their smalls but nothing more, not wanting to risk spilling anything hot on unprotected flesh. Athos even brewed some of the tea he knew Aramis kept on hand for pain. He had not said anything, but Athos had not missed the pinched look around his eyes. He was starting to hurt and it would likely only get worse if they did not do something about it.

“Are we really going to let the Whelp do this?” Porthos asked as they put together a meal for the four of them.

“I do not see as we have much choice,” Athos replied. “He will not leave this half done and after overhearing us, he will not allow us to do it in his stead. It is his way, Porthos. As much as I wish it was not, we can do nothing but accept it and try to make the aftermath as easy on the both of them as possible.”

“Agreed, brother,” Porthos said. He glanced sideways at Athos and saw the worry marring his features. “And how are you holding up?”

“As well as can be expected, I suppose,” Athos said. “I do not like seeing any of you in pain, but to see d’Artagnan tearing himself apart like this…”

“I hear you, brother. He does not own my heart and it still makes me want to weep. I can only imagine how much worse it must be for you.”

Athos nodded, needing a moment to get his wayward emotions back under control. “At least I have my brothers by my side to help hold me up,” he said. “I do not know that I could have endured it without you to lean on.”

“I did nothing…”

“Your very presence was sufficient,” Athos told him. “It let me know I was not alone, that there was someone else there to help me, to hold me up if I should need it.”

“I will always be there for you,” Porthos promised. “Always.”

When they returned to the room, they found the pair sitting up in bed, Aramis leaning back against d’Artagnan, the younger man’s arms wrapped around his waist holding him close. They watched d’Artagnan let him go reluctantly as they joined them on the bed with their lunch.

By the time they finished eating, and d’Artagnan had managed to keep enough down to satisfy all three of his brothers, they were all feeling much steadier. Aramis could instinctively tell that Little One’s presence was no longer needed, that his Master was once more able to cope with what they had done.

“I would like to speak with the three of you,” Aramis began, taking a breath, though careful not to breathe too deeply and aggravate his injury. He had sipped at the tea Athos had prepared for him, but had not drunk much of it. He wanted his mind clear for the coming conversation. He could see to his pain once it was over with.

“Why do I get the feeling we are not going to like this particular conversation?” Athos asked.

“I do not think you will find it overly objectionable, though you are right that you will not be terribly pleased,” Aramis admitted.

“Just tell us,” Porthos said. 

“I know I said that you may go after… after _them_ …”

“Aramis,” d’Artagnan began, shaking his head in denial.

“Please hear me out,” Aramis asked them all.

“We are listening,” Athos said. He placed a hand on d’Artagnan’s arm, stilling him. They would hear what Aramis had to say.

“I am not rescinding that,” Aramis said quickly, not wanting anyone to get the wrong idea. 

“But?” Porthos prompted, knowing there was more.

“But I would ask that you wait until such time as I am strong enough to go with you,” Aramis said.

“No,” d’Artagnan said at once.

“Master…”

“I don’t want you anywhere near those animals,” d’Artagnan told him. “I want you here and safe and…”

“d’Artagnan, I am not going to sit here, safe in our home, while my brothers go to battle in my name,” Aramis told him as gently as he could. “If you insist on risking yourselves, then the risk shall be borne by all of us equally.”

“I don’t want you to even have to look at them again,” d’Artagnan told him.

“I know,” Aramis replied. “And I thank you for that. But I need to do this. I need to be a part of it. If we are to end this, end them, then my hand must be in it as well. I beg of you, do not order me otherwise.”

“You know I will not,” d’Artagnan said.

“You would if you thought my participation would do me more harm than good,” Aramis countered. 

“Do you think it will harm you in some way to go with us, to help end them?” d’Artagnan asked him.

“No,” Aramis said. “I do not like the idea of killing them in cold blood, but if anyone ever deserved such a fate, it is them. I… I cannot be the only person they have ever done this to. I shudder to think of another suffering the things that I have at their hands.”

“If this is your wish, I shall not fight you on it,” d’Artagnan said. “I still do not like the thought of you being anywhere near them, but you know your own mind and what you can endure. I will not be so disrespectful as to suggest otherwise.”

“Thank you,” Aramis said. “Athos? Porthos? I know you wanted this as badly as d’Artagnan did. Is this something you can abide?”

Athos looked to Porthos and saw him nod, though he was clearly not happy about it. “We shall abide by your wishes,” Athos told him. “Though we, like d’Artagnan, are not thrilled by the idea of you being anywhere near those monsters. We do understand your desire for closure, though, and we shall not deny you that.”

“Thank you. Thank you all.”

d’Artagnan moved then, closing the distance between them and pulling Aramis into a hard kiss. It was the quickest way he could think of to stop the man from speaking. That he felt the need to thank them for this, did not sit well with him at all. Aramis should not thank them for doing as he asked of them, for not disregarding his wishes as if his wants did not matter.

Aramis was surprised by d’Artagnan’s sudden move but quickly found himself responding, his body coming alive. He moaned into his lover’s mouth, unable to hold back and clutched at d’Artagnan, not wanting him to pull away.

After a moment, d’Artagnan broke the kiss, but he did not pull away, aware from the way Aramis was holding onto him that the other man needed him there. “I am not going anywhere,” he said softly.

“What do you need, love?” Porthos asked from next to them. “Do you need your Master?”

“Is that what you need me to be in this moment?” d’Artagnan asked. “Your Master?”

“I just need you,” Aramis said, shaking his head. 

“I am yours,” d’Artagnan said, somewhat relieved, wanting to be with Aramis without anything else between them. “However you wish me. Though I would have you be mindful of your injury.”

“Can I ride you?” Aramis asked, blushing slightly as he did so.

“Fuck,” Porthos groaned, the image of Aramis riding d’Artagnan flashing before his eyes and making his own cock harden in his smalls.

“I concur,” Athos said breathlessly. He, too, found the image beyond arousing and wanted little more than to watch them come together in such a way.

“I am afraid my hand prevents me from being able to prepare you,” d’Artagnan said regretfully. “Do you wish to do it yourself or would you rather one of our brothers do it?”

“I want to do it myself,” Aramis said. “I want you to watch me as I stretch myself for your cock. Would you like that, d’Artagnan? Would you like to watch me work myself open with my own fingers?”

“Yes,” d’Artagnan groaned. “God, yes, ‘Mis.”

“Is there anything you want us to do?” Porthos asked. He had to reach down and squeeze his cock, Aramis’ words lighting a fire in him just as much as they their youngest.

“I…” Aramis began then trailed off, unsure suddenly if he should voice his desire.

“Tell them,” d’Artagnan said. “They will not deny you.”

“I want you to lay Athos out beside d’Artagnan and prepare him while I prepare myself,” Aramis said, his face heating even more, though the twin looks of lust on his brothers’ faces spurred him on. “Then I want you to fuck him, here beside d’Artagnan, while I ride our boy’s cock.”

“Athos?” Porthos choked.

“Yes,” Athos said at once, the thought of lying beside d’Artagnan, of Porthos taking him as he did so, even as Aramis took their boy inside himself, was enough to make his cock throb painfully in his smalls.

Porthos moved off the bed to fetch the oil and some towels. He hastily shed his smalls as well and grinned when he looked back and saw Athos doing the same. When Athos stretched out next to d’Artagnan and took the boy’s uninjured hand in his own, Porthos had to close his eyes against a swell of emotion. The lust was still there, still burning inside of him, but it was tempered with so much love and affection that, for a moment, it was hard to breathe.

Climbing back onto the bed, he set the towels aside then handed the oil to Aramis first. Once his hands were free, he moved up over Athos and kissed him deeply, all but plundering his mouth as he tasted him. He did not let up until Athos was moaning beneath him. Before he sat back, however, he leaned over to d’Artagnan and kissed him as well, earning a startled moan from the Whelp and Aramis both as he kissed and licked his way into the younger man’s mouth.

Sitting back, Porthos pushed one of Athos’ thighs up, leaving him spread and bared before him. From the hot blush that covered Athos’ face, he knew his lover was enjoying being so on display so Porthos took a moment to simply look at him.

Taking up the oil, Porthos slicked his fingers then trailed them down Athos’ cleft to his hole. He circled around it, pressing lightly only to pull back, teasing the other man ruthlessly until Athos was pushing down against Porthos’ finger, urging him to breech him.

While Porthos was busy driving Athos mad, Aramis had positioned himself over d’Artagnan’s thighs and began preparing himself. He kept one leg bent, wanting to give his lover a clear view of what he was doing. From the rapt look on his face, he was succeeding quite well. 

“Do they feel good inside of you?” d’Artagnan asked, his breath coming faster as he watched Aramis above him.

“Yes,” Aramis moaned. “They feel so good. And knowing they are stretching me for you, for your cock, makes them feel even better. I… I almost want to…”

“To?”

“To not do this so well,” Aramis admitted. “I want to feel you, feel you taking me, stretching me with your cock, feel you making me take you.”

“I do not have enough control for that,” d’Artagnan lamented. “Soon, though. Soon I will take you with only the slightest of preparation. Maybe… maybe I won’t prepare you at all. Just slick my cock and fuck you. Would you like that? Would you like to feel me making you take it?”

“Yes,” Aramis sobbed and shoved his fingers inside himself deeper still.

“Aramis,” d’Artagnan groaned. “You have no idea how badly I want you to straddle my face right now so I shove my tongue where your fingers are.”

“Fucking hell, you two,” Porthos growled. “I’m going to end up spending all over myself with the way you two are going.”

“You are not the only one,” Athos moaned. His body was on fire and the words of their lovers were only fanning the flames. He could well imagine Aramis, sobbing out his pleasure as well as his pain, while d’Artagnan took him. “God, Porthos, fuck me already.”

Porthos hesitated for only a moment then sank his finger inside of Athos up to the hilt. He felt his lover tense around him and held still for a moment before pulling back and thrusting in again. This time, Athos moaned at the feel of it and Porthos quickly began fucking him, all desire to tease gone.

As soon as he felt Athos’ body opening to him, Porthos added a second finger. He felt Athos tense again, but this time he did not stop. He kept sliding his fingers in and out, fucking him open as his body clenched around him. 

“Does it hurt?” d’Artagnan asked, turning his head to look at Athos briefly. He had felt Athos’ grip on his hand tighten considerably and could tell Porthos was fucking him hurriedly.

“N-n-no,” Athos managed. It was not pain exactly. It was more discomfort than anything else, and certainly nothing he could not take, nothing he did not want to take. 

Satisfied with his answer, d’Artagnan turned his attention back to Aramis. His lover was working two fingers in and out of himself with ease. He saw Aramis hesitate and shook his head. “Use three,” he said. “I cannot bear the thought of hurting you just now. Another time, I shall give you what you have asked for, just… not right now.”

“As you wish, my love,” Aramis told him. He did not need to hear anything more. Removing his fingers, he added more oil then slowly pushed three back inside himself. He moaned at the stretch, imagining what it would feel like when it was his lover’s cock instead. As eager as he was, it did not take long for his body to adjust and he was soon moving his fingers within himself with ease. He looked down at d’Artagnan and saw the hunger on his face and knew he was ready.

Porthos felt when Athos’ body finally relaxed around him. He continued to fuck his fingers in and out of the man, wanting to make sure he was stretched enough. “Do you want me to add another?” Porthos asked. He knew he probably should. He was big and two fingers were not normally sufficient, but he would leave the decision to Athos. He knew his own limits.

“No,” Athos said. “I want you to fuck me. I want you to make me moan and shake when you push inside of me. I want it to feel like I cannot even breathe because there is no room left in me for air.”

With a snarl, Porthos pulled his fingers free and wiped them on one of the towels. He picked up the oil and slicked his cock, then lifted Athos’ leg up high so that his hole was laid bare. “Gonna fuck you now,” he said as he nestled his cock against Athos’ hole, gripping himself by the base with his free hand to steady himself. 

Athos could not help but cry out when Porthos pushed forward hard, shoving the head of his cock past the guardian ring of muscle and into his body. He felt himself tense and had to fight not to try to pull away. He could feel himself start to shake, just as he had said he wanted, and moaned loudly at the feel of being so utterly taken. He felt the hand holding his squeeze rhythmically and felt a flare of lust at the knowledge that d’Artagnan was right there, watching as Porthos took him.

“So fucking tight,” Porthos groaned. “Feels like a vise around my cock. You ready for me to fuck you now?”

“Yes,” Athos gasped out. He tried to steel himself for it but the sheer overwhelming nature of Porthos forcing his way inside of him, not stopping, not pausing, simply pressing forward, forcing his body to yield to him, was too much.

Against his will, Athos found himself thrashing in his lover’s grip, struggling against the unrelenting nature of his taking. Porthos’ hands on his hips never let up, though. He never stopped forcing his way inside of him, making Athos’ body open to him and accept him.

“My God,” Aramis whispered as he watched Porthos taking their brother. He had been on the receiving end of such a taking before, but he had never witnessed such a thing. He had no idea it was so affecting to behold. 

“Aramis, please,” d’Artagnan begged, unable to hold back any longer. Between the sight of his beautiful lover fucking himself and the way Porthos was taking Athos right next to him, it was a miracle that he had not spent himself already.

“Yes. Yes, now,” Aramis said. He pulled his fingers from his body and cleaned his hand then took up the bottle of oil. He poured some into his hand and slicked d’Artagnan’s cock. He was not surprised when the younger man cried out and thrust forward into his hand, his flushed cock hard and leaking already.

Moving up, he straddled his lover’s hips and had d’Artagnan let go of Athos’ hand long enough to hold his cock in place for him. Reaching back, he spread himself and leaned back until he felt the head of his lover’s cock against his slick and loosened hole. Taking a breath, he pushed back, groaning at his body’s resistance, then he was opening and the head of d’Artagnan’s cock was slipping inside of him, thick and fat and perfect.

“Ohhhh,” d’Artagnan moaned at the feeling of Aramis’ tight heat engulfing the head of his cock. Before he could stop himself, he thrust up, burying himself half way inside his lover’s body and causing Aramis to shout in a combination of surprise and arousal. 

Seeing how desperate his lover was, Aramis pushed back, sliding his body down his lover’s cock until he was fully seated, his cock buried to the hilt. He stilled for a few seconds then, enjoying the feeling of being filled then he began to move, fucking himself up and down on the other man as he gazed down into his eyes.

Athos and Porthos had both paused at Aramis’ shout, startled by it. They had watched then, enraptured by the sight of Aramis slowly sliding down d’Artagnan’s cock. When he began to move, Porthos could hold back no longer and began to fuck Athos with hard, fast snaps of his hips, intent on making the other man spend from his cock alone. 

In no time at all, Athos was thrashing once more. This time, though, the thought of escape was the farthest thing from his mind. The feel of Porthos fucking into him, hard and fast, hitting that spot inside of him over and over, was making him light-headed. He knew he was going to spend, could feel it building at the base of his spine. All it took was one final hard thrust from his lover and Athos was tumbling over the edge, spending between them as his body clenched and shook around the cock still moving inside of him.

Porthos heard Athos give a soft cry a second before he felt his lover’s body clamp down on him. He watched him as he spent, the look on his face one he would not forget any time soon. After a few more erratic thrusts, Porthos buried himself inside of him and began to spend as well, his seed filling Athos’ body and making him groan again at the thought of it.

While Athos and Porthos completed their union, Aramis did his best to drive his young lover insane with desire. He rode him hard and fast, moving his hips in a way that had d’Artagnan moaning almost constantly. He could feel d’Artagnan’s hips starting to snap up when he came down, shoving his cock in hard and deep and Aramis reveled in it. 

“Close,” d’Artagnan ground out as he continued to fuck up into Aramis as the man rode him. He did not want to spend before his lover did, wanting to ensure Aramis’ pleasure in this. He need not have worried. As soon as d’Artagnan said he was close, Aramis took it as permission to let go of his tightly held control. 

“Spend for me,” Aramis gasped as he slammed down once more and let go. He felt his body clench down hard on the thickness inside of him and cried out at the feel of it. He knew he should keep moving, to see to his lover’s needs, but the pleasure singing all throughout him made it impossible.

Taking Aramis’ hip in his injured hand, d’Artagnan gripped him as tightly as he could and continued to fuck up into him. It was only a matter of a few sharp thrusts before he jerked Aramis down against him and began to spend.

Sated, Aramis all but collapsed on top of d’Artagnan and would have had the other man not grabbed him and rolled him onto his side, ever mindful of his injured shoulder. He rolled onto his side with him, not wanting the movement to cause him to slip free too quickly and cause his lover pain. Once Aramis was settled, d’Artagnan let his softening cock slide out of him, pulling little more than a soft sigh from the other man.

Porthos pulled out of Athos just as gently and together the two of them cleaned their lovers as best they could. Once they were clean as well, they lay back down beside them, Aramis and Athos in the middle with Porthos and d’Artagnan bracketing them. Across them, d’Artagnan reached out with his injured hand and Porthos took it carefully. 

Come what may, they were together. 

That was the only thing that truly mattered.

&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M&M

It could smell food. Good food. Delicious food. It was coming from the man-place that they all stayed away from. Carefully, mindful of the hateful cat-things that slunk in the shadows waiting to devour hapless little mice, it scurried across the open expanse toward the man-place. 

The food smells grew stronger the closer it got. The man-place had to be stuffed with food to smell so strongly. Maybe that was why they all stayed away. Maybe it was so full of food that they were just too big to fit inside. A small mouse like him, though, he would have no trouble slipping inside. Then all that delicious food would be his for the eating.

The mouse reached the locked shed without incident and scampered around it, looking for a way in. It found a small gap at the bottom, where the wall did not quite meet the floor. With just a little digging, he was able to wriggle his small body through the hole and into Aramis’ Laboratory. 

The mouse looked around in confusion. Where was the food? Suddenly, all of the delicious food smells were gone. It had a second to panic, then something dark seized its heart and between one heartbeat and the next, it was dead.

_La Oscuridad_. That was what the Musketeer, the _Seminarian_ , had called it. It supposed that was as good a name as any. Certainly better than some it had been called over the long, endless years.

La Oscuridad smiled in the darkened corners of the tiny shed. With every life it took, it grew stronger, more solid, more… real. In time, it would be able to leave this place. And when that day came, there would be Hell to pay for a certain Musketeer. 

Hell to pay, indeed.

End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many thanks to Snow_Glory for all of her excellent suggestions and help with this!
> 
> I realize there are still quite a few loose ends, namely the couple, but there is a 3rd story under way in this arc that should (hopefully) resolve all of that.

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: I have taken a few liberties with the actual history of this villian and the subsequent timeline.


End file.
